#Might do this kind of list for the other characters as well
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factual-fantasy · 20 hours ago
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30 Asks! Thank you! :)) 🐮
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I was able to replace my tablet chord and download a brand new/fresh FireAlpaca file and so far things seem to be all better. But if my problems come back then I will be drawing in traditional yes <XDD
Also thank you so much!! :DDD
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Bella my NPC cat? :0 She would accept the pats :))
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@artistiemi
Awwwwwww 🥹🥹 This drawing is so cute and soft 😭😭💞💞💞 Thank you! :)))
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@chickenmilk120 (Referencing this post)
Yeah 😔😔 hoping they change it someday soon 🙏🙏🙏
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(Link in question)
Oh yeah! Its right here :)
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@sc3n3mo-t3to
XDDD Thank you!! :))))
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@candyglumboy (Sent after this post)
Not a crush, he's in love! :0 And so is Pomni but neither of them really realize that/understand it and thus aren't really doing anything about it <XD
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@rockandtoon
SOBBBSSS THANOYIYUUU SO MCUCHYHH 😭😭💞💞💞
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@fandomcenteral
Aw! Cute kitty!! :DD
And thank you, currently I feel not the best 💀 but hopefully this next doctors appointment will give me some answers <:))
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@kwaziis-eyepatch-real
Thank you! :) But also sorry, no.. I wouldn't be comfortable with my art being used as pfps <:(
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Ehhh,, I wouldn't <:( That probably wouldn't sit well with me..
Thank you very much for checking first though! Not everyone does <:)))
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WAHAGG THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! :DD Sucks that you found me offsite but glad you're here none the less! :)
And don't worry, you'll find stuff for Kinger XDDD
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@captain-skyler1987
Hello! And are those guys from Dandy's world.? XD
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I don't like what you're implying by turning Jangles into a werewolf and then putting chocolate on the table <XDDD
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@natewithcake (Post in question)
AAAAA THANK YOU!! :DDDD
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MEEHEHEEEEHEHEEEEEEEEE🎶
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@bellanova137
Maybe they'll come out and make it official someday! :0 But for now having them be in love and trying to hide it from each other is fun to draw and mess with XDD
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I feel like having a wolf centaur body would mostly just be incontinent and very uncomfortable.😅
Typically, wolves display crepuscular behavior, meaning they prefer times of low light and are most active around twilight, dawn, and dusk. Imagine how that would clash with your human body which is supposed to sleep at night and stay awake all day..
You'd have to change your diet to give both your human AND wolf half the nutrients they need. It would be MUCH harder to clean yourself and wipe your own bum. You'd have to pay loads for pet shampoo and grooming products PLUS the human ones you already use.. You'd spend hours trying to groom your fur and not damage your wolf skin when you try to clean your human skin with other products and vice versa. All clothes have to be custom made, you cant sit or walk comfortably in any public spaces.. You'd have to go to human doctors AND special vets to care for both of your halves...
The list just goes on <XDD being a wolf centaur would just suck in my opinion.
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Ah sorry- nono you weren't being rude. I just forgot to comment back that I don't actually know what laptop I have 😅
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@ink-machine-kidd
She probably snuck past whoever was in charge of her and put on the headset even though she was told not to😔
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(Recent post) (Queenie and Kinger comic)
Oh nono, I just hadn't made everyone's ref sheets yet at that time. But different outfits is something Caine would try to manage! :0
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Man you really had pirates on the mind huh XDD
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Ohh, I see. I might not do that.. but I get the idea now <:D Thank you!
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Vibes received 🤩 Thank you! :)))
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Thank you!! :DD
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Big wolf! :D
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@samcat71470558
Thank you for the kind words <:))) So far it seems like the new tablet chord and downloading a fresh FireAlpaca has fixed all my problems. Hopefully it stays that way! 🙏
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XD I think I just have a pattern with medias I'm into. If the story is mostly wholesome it feels bland. So I add a bunch of angst to it. (Octonauts is a good example)
Or alternatively, if the story is super angsty or has types of angst that I don't take well, (like character deaths) then I usually make a fix-it AU that brings everyone back to life and changes/removes a lot of the angst. (TADC and my Undertale AU: RefinedTale being good examples)
Also in my AU, Kaufmo hasn't abstracted. So she bonded with the other humans in other ways overtime. 👍
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@wolfie-777
At first I assumed these were obviously fake. But a quick Google search shows that they seem to be real! :0 Although the peeled banana is clearly photoshopped <XDD
Ngl, a vanilla-like custard taste is exactly what I hoped/expected those bananas to taste like XDD
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@theintroverse
La Chancla translated to "the flip flop".? <:0 I'm sorry but I don't understand..
Also is he based on a Pinata? :0 I hadn't realized- perhaps I will have to consider giving him some candy powers <XDD
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sideblogofawriter · 6 hours ago
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First of all OP this is not against you in any way because I think you're largely correct. (Let me know if you want me to delete this because I did kind of hijack the post a bit.) And you absolutely don't have to justify choosing not to answer certain questions or types of questions. You make a good point about how things like seemingly worsening internet criticism feed into perfectionism and fears of failure. And while I do think AI is to blame for shortening attention spans and over-reliance, I don't necessarily think that's the case here... more in a bit.
I laughed at one of the asks in the linked post that said "what are vil's flaws if he has any" because what do you mean if he has any? Are we playing the same game? Asks for a list of basic character traits are also amusing because come on. If you didn't know their basic character traits, you wouldn't be interested in reading/writing about them, would you? Have more confidence in yourself.
But as a writer to writers: I get it. Especially when a character is your fave, you might have a tendency to woobify them, whether accidentally or not. It's not a bad thing to seek a second opinion or find a beta reader to keep you on track. That is a valid route to improvement. And it's logical to want said person to be someone you believe/know has a solid understanding of the characters. But a cold open with someone you don't know personally is a little awkward; I know I'd find it hard to advise without knowing more about both the topic and the writer.
I'm going to go out on a limb and say that people aren't asking for summaries because of unwillingness to read a longer analysis (à la ChatGPT), but more out of respect for OP's time, and the mindset that "something is better than nothing". Though I can't speak for everyone, it's specifically because people sought someone relatively well-known for their writing/analysis that I daresay they're not looking for a "cheat sheet" but rather "insight". After all, there are bots that will write stories for you now, for those who don't understand the value of effort and quality attained over time. For those who do, just a tiny glimpse of someone else's perspective can spark something thought-provoking and lead you to conclusions you wouldn't have come to on your own. Of course, it's still up to each individual to decide what they're comfortable with answering/sharing, especially on a public platform.
However, there's a huge difference (in my opinion) between asking how a character acts and why a character acts. The former you can figure out by playing the game or finding the sources online who have translated/organized content. The latter, however, focuses on things that are shown rather than told. They're very open to interpretation based on educated guesses and personal experience.
Which leads me to my point: characters are flexible. People are flexible. "In-character" and "out-of-character" have wiggle room based on the situation at hand and how you perceive them. You might not agree with someone else's takes and they might not agree with yours. Chances are, whatever you're writing is not something that has happened canonically; therefore, no one other than the developers can tell you that's not how it goes.
I'm not saying OOC doesn't truly exist - if Leona cartwheels into class, you've gone too far. But have faith in your own interpretations. If you think it's reasonable that a character would act a certain way in whatever situation you've put them in, go for it. If it's a little bit of a stretch, but it makes for a good story, it's not the end of the world. It's nice to bounce ideas off people or get some validation (which I suspect is what some people are really after when they ask for someone else's thoughts, hoping they align with their own for a confidence boost). But if you can't, consider the fact that you actually care about what's OOC a sign that you're on the right track. We've all seen fics that grossly misinterpret characters based on surface-level characterization. An idea of what NOT to do and some basic character research, and you're probably good to go.
Hi! I'm trying to get into writing twst fanfiction, but I'm having some trouble with keeping the boys in-character. What do you think are their base traits? Like, what's the foundation of their personalities?
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Hello! I spent a long time debating about whether to respond to this ask or not. Ultimately, a lot of the thoughts I would include in my response are the same as what I have already expressed here. However, I've noticed that this has become sort of a recurring issue, so I'd like to address this more seriously.
I've recently been getting a lot of people requesting that I basically tell them how to write the Twst characters. Tens and tens of them, in fact (too many to include all in one post). Sometimes it's an ask like, "please list out strengths/weaknesses or a summary of their character traits", and sometimes it's more specific like, "here is a prompt I am working on; how do you think [character] would act in this situation?" I'm NOT comfortable with either type of ask and refuse to answer asks of this nature.
I want to be clear: this is NOT the same as asking for general writing advice; this is literally just asking to be spoon-fed the answers. There is a difference between seeking advice on how to overcome writer's block or asking what are techniques to show, don't tell (which is general writing advice) versus asking someone to specifically instruct them on how to write Leona Kingscholar from the hit Disney mobile game Twisted Wonderland. The former is okay with me, while the latter is not.
While I am flattered that people care about my opinion and hold it in high regard, I am not here to be a cheat sheet, and nor are my opinions the "most correct". There is no single "correct" way to write a character, and even if there was, it's certainly not mine. Only the Twst devs themselves are the "most correct", as whatever they produce is what ends up as canon.
As I have said in my previous post on this topic, having someone else tell you how to write does little to help you. Writing is a skill, and skills are not inherent. They are something you train in, practice, and learn. Looking at a bunch of adjectives will not help you write or understand the characters any better than you currently do. If anything, it just means you don’t develop or practice your critical analysis skills. In a worse-case scenario, it devalues what a writer does, as it places the burden on them to condense what they know into a laundry list of characterization--as if it doesn't take us tons of time to hone those writing skills. The only real way to get the results you want is to do your own research, develop your own interpretations, and practice, practice, practice. There is no magic pill or shortcut or streamlining or easy way to do it and come out with a quality result. You have to be willing to put in the time and the effort to learn a skill, and that extends to writing, be it for this fandom, another fandom, or even for non-fandom writing. Think about it like this: when you're writing a good research paper, do you go and ask a single other source to gather all your data and summarize it for you? Of course not. You have to go out and manually collect the resources, do the reading, take notes, and gain an understanding of those resources. Then you use your newfound knowledge to summarize and to synthesize your own conclusions in your research paper. The same logic applies for writing in fandom.
I'm not sure why there is this sudden interest in shortcuts. Is it social media shortening our attention spans? Is it the rise of A.I. like ChatGPT making people more reliant on and more comfortable with summaries? Is it that people are concerned with nailing characterization or instant success the first time around? Is it that the internet's so much crueler with comments + feedback that we want to avoid OOC-ness as much as possible? Is it that I just so happen to like talking about character analysis so people think I must know everything? It could be any of these reasons or a combination of them--but whatever the reasoning is, it still leaves a bad taste in my mouth. It's concerning to me that it seems like people are becoming less and less interested in thinking for themselves and instead are increasingly reliant on others telling them how to create. You NEED to fail and get stuff wrong. You NEED to be able to have the courage to try things on your own. Don't be afraid of failure--failure isn't inherently a bad thing, it is how we learn, grow, and shape our own styles and ways of thinking! I definitely was not perfect when I first started out. I had to fail and stumble and struggle to get my craft to where it is today. So did every single one of your favorite creators. Artists had stick figures, writers had their first words. No artist or writer started off making masterpieces. Arguably, they still don't. Every creator is continuously learning and trying to improve their craft. It's not as though they hit perfection one day and decided to stay stagnant. I feel that it devalues what we make when we try to boil down all the skill we've developed into easy "answer keys" for others to digest. Again, you can ask all you want and seek out as many shortcuts as you like, but that's not going to be properly absorbed into your brain unless you walk the walk for yourself. You can't assume that learning these things will be as easy as reading a summary, memorizing a tutorial, figuring out what brush someone uses, etc.--it wasn't for the people you're asking for this advice from either. Failing is normal and expected. You will also never be able to create something that pleases everyone or something that everyone agrees with--so instead of trying to appeal to an unseen audience, please focus on creating what makes you happy. You have your own creative journeys ahead of you, so don't be scared to walk that road! It can be tough and you'll hit roadblocks and challenges--but overcome them, and you'll become even stronger and more skilled than you were before.
Best of luck!
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jazy3 · 9 hours ago
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The official Stranger Things accounts shared a close up version of the missing poster for Jane Hopper that we saw in the promo trailer with the caption “Who’s *really* looking for Jane Hopper? You’re not ready for what’s to come in Stranger Things 5”. So it looks like Chapter 2: The Vanishing of [Redacted] may be about Eleven and not Holly! When the Duffer Brothers said everything was going to come full circle in Season 5 I thought they were talking about character dynamics and relationships not abductions! Apparently bringing things full circle means everyone's going to get abducted!
Based on the BTS and promo content we've gotten so far it looks like Eleven, Holly, and potentially Erica are going to get abducted or go missing this season. It also appears that Karen, Holly, and Erica may be trapped in a Vecna trance or part of his mindscape during this time. Honestly, I didn't see it coming! I did not think that's what they meant by full circle! In the poster they use her Lenora Hills mug shot and she’s listed as a missing teen who is 15 years old and was last seen at Hawkins High on June 13, 1986. This indicates that there might be two or more time jumps in Season 5. One from March to June of 1986 and then another to fall of 1987.
She’s said to have disappeared in the afternoon while walking down the sidewalk near Hawkins High which would indicate she was attending school there which is odd considering that she’s supposed to be in hiding. Unless she went there to see Mike or another character but that seems like a big risk to take. We know how Hopper feels about her taking those kind of risks and so I assumed he would be homeschooling her this season. Enrolling her at Hawkins High after what happened in Lenora seems like a huge risk and completely unnecessary considering that she wasn't doing well in a normal school environment and that homeschooling her would likely be a better and safe option.
Since we've seen footage of her interacting with the other characters at the junkyard it's possible that those scenes take place before the time jump in Chapter 1 and that the other footage is from later episodes when she's stuck in the Upside Down or in hiding. Her birthday is listed as 06/07/71 which could be June 7th or July 6th. Given the events at Starcourt it’s more likely to be June 7th as her birthday isn’t mentioned in Season 3. However, Will’s was mentioned in Season 2 and they messed that up in Season 4 so who knows? 
The poster lists a $3000 reward which is the equivalent of over $5000 in today’s money so clearly whoever's after her wants her bad. As the Byers definitely don't have that kind of cash and the caption indicates that someone else or another group of people have asked the Hawkins PD to look for her or have reported her missing. If you call the phone number on the poster a voicemail tells you that the town of Hawkins is currently under lockdown due to the earthquake and that the Hawkins Police Department is working with the Hawkins Emergency Task Force to track down missing persons and that Jane Hopper is a priority.
This makes it sound like the Task Force is part of the military and that they're looking for her and told the Hawkins PD that she's dangerous and that they need to find her ASAP. So it could be that our heroes are going to have to dodge both the military and the local police this season. I'm not super excited about this plot as the military plot was my least favourite part of Season 4. The villians in that plotline were so one dimensional and that whole plot was just annoying to me so I'm hoping they've made some improvements for Season 5.
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volivolition · 9 months ago
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dude the TOP song you posted (truce) fucking kills me and the way you described the animatic is??? so good???? I'd bawl actually /pos
I need to know if there's any other TOP songs you relate to the furies/any DE character really, or any slower songs even if they aren't by TOP
OH AGREED ABSOLUTELY!! TRUCE MY BELOVED... and THANK YOU!! we are imagining animatics and crying together! /pos :'] <3
ooh!! well, i havent listened to a lot of TOP in a while, so i don't have many recommendations there unfortunately :'] but for other slow, soft songs, let's see... i'll put them under a cut with all my explanations, but ☀️ "See The Day" by The Altogether (Volition song!), 🍃 "Rounds" by The Oh Hellos (Shivers song!), 🦋 "Would You Be So Kind" by dodie (general skills song, Suggestion primarily!) are the best contenders!
Pretty sure you've seen it already, but from a different ask, i recommend "Almost (Sweet Music)" by Hozier! (and "Like Real People Do" if you want to cry and yearn with me, though my DE ideas for it are very loose hkjhg) these are slow ones i like hkjhg <3
"Goodbye" by The Altogether is a Harry and Dora song :0
"Soldier, Poet, King" by The Oh Hellos is one i specifically relate to Volition (my beloved protector/motivator/crownhead blorbo! [picks him up and wiggles him!!!]), but i would make one of those animation memes for it with every skill slotted into a "soldier" "poet" or "king" position.
☀️ "See the Day" is both another The Altogether song and another Volition song! a real "the worst is over. we made it through. we're going to survive this. it might not get easier yet, but we'll come out the other side and we'll be alive" song. it makes me cry hkjgh
🍃 "Rounds" by The Oh Hellos is a soft Shivers song, though the lyrics don't start until halfway in. ough my god listening to it makes my heart ache (/pos) <3 La Revacholiere singing to Harry in the wind. "Will you start when I end? Yeah, I'm long in the wind..."
"Northern Star" by Dom Fera, a song Harry would sing for karaoke and dedicate to Kim, and then they'd waltz a little clumsily on the dim, starlit sidewalk on their way home for the evening... <3
🦋 "Would You Be So Kind?" by dodie BUT SPECIFICALLY THIS VERSION, because i love everyone's crowded but earnest vibes. this one is led by Suggestion ("oooh you wanna fall in love with us so bad right? right???") and makes me grin, you GOTTA imagine all of the skills squished together in the front of Harry's brain all trying different tactics to get Kim to fall in love with them, (rhetoric: "I HAVE A QUESTION..." ency: "let's write a story! be in my book!") at 2:35, after all the skills singing together loudly, it's just Harry himself singing to Kim, with all the skills slowly backing him up. the ending is all of them fucking ECSTATIC celebrating when harry finally kisses kim hkjhg jesus this'd be so cute hold on i have to go plan this out i have so many thoughts hkjdh
"Seven" by Sleeping at Last would be a sweet Reaction Speed song (ironic that im adding react speed to a list of soft, slow songs though hkjgh) "I'm ready for whatever comes next!" <3 Reaction Speed is a fast, restless little fella who can't sit still for long, always loves moving, acting, doing. he's like the personification of a verb hkjhg <3 i would also accept an interpretation for echem <3
"Cosmos" by Jawbreaker Reunion is a song that The Furies recently suggested to me as a jean song and it's so right for that, very soft and i like it very much :'] (you should also ask The Furies if you want to, it's much more musically inclined than me, i feel hkjhg <3)
awuahg thank you for asking and for reading!! i appreciate it!! <33
oh and here's links to all of the songs in the tags: Come Together Now, Two, Four, Five, Six, Eight, Nine, RPG Animation Meme (<- homestuck lmao)
#volta transmissions#now: songs that didn't meet the requirements (either not a slow song OR doesnt remind me of de characters/skills) but honorable mentions:#you specifically asked for slow songs but i refound ''come together now'' from the lego movie soundtrack and I HAVE SKILL THOUGHTS...#<- no chemi you're not hosting a fucking multi animator project you have enough on your plate THANKS <3#but!! that is my idealized version of the skills to me though. ''we're all really different but we make each other better together''#dodie has many more slower songs but i cant really relate them to DE hkjhg <3 the oh hellos too!! and the altogether <3#''two'' from Sleeping at Last makes my heart hurt but i can't relate it to anyone in specific. but if you want a soft song that i love <3#also from Sleeping at Last but i dont like these songs as much: ''Four'' is Concept! ''Five'' is Viscal! ''Six'' is Psyche in general#but specifically inland and volition!! ''Eight'' is an Endurance song but i'd also take Authority or Phys interpretations <3#but eight is kind of intense so it doesnt go in the actual list. ''Nine'' might be Empathy? get over being a moralist little guy!!#i like ''Two'' ''Seven'' and ''Eight'' while the other ones are not my cup of tea... but they ARE soft songs i associate with skills!#only tangentially related but the RPG animation meme would be. extremely fun to do for the skills. and i think about it intensely.#LISTEN... there's 30-ish beats at the start for characters. theres 24 skills plus room to show group ups by type (int; psyc; phys; mot)#the entire main thing of the meme is [someone says a stupid idea] [everyone disliked that!!] WHICH IS EXACTLY THE RIGHT VIBE HFJKFH#HOWEVER. i still dont have designs for [checks] MORE THAN HALF OF THEM. so EL BIGO MISTAKO LIEUTENANT! YOU CAN'T!#i wish i was more well-versed in music hkjhg im kinda just vibing with what i got <3 this is why daily voltas stopped :'] alas!#esprit: Sammie
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sabertoothwalrus · 9 months ago
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do you think Falin's chimerism would affect her lifespan and behaviors? or just her body? maybe she can make more animalistic noises or has vague dragon-like instincts?
that’s a really good question! I think we could probably figure this out by taking a look at what we know about Falin, what we know about red dragons, whether these things would apply to Falin, and go from there.
The obvious external changes Falin has are: her eyes, her teeth, and her feathers.
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It’s hard to pin down what Falin is like! Throughout the duration of the manga, she wasn’t really a character so much as a plot device. We have almost nothing told from her point of view, and the majority of her unbiased (as in, we’re seeing her through a neutral lens and not another character’s perception of her) characterization is from the post-canon omake.
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Even Falin believes that her wanderlust might come from her dragon side, but she's not sure. Personally, I think it’d make a lot of sense if it kind of does, in the sense that she has 20/20 vision now, haha! For most of her life, she could probably only see clearly within a relatively small sphere surrounding her, and now she can see everything. She can look up and around freely in a way she couldn’t before. Fuck man, if I had magic lasik I’d probably go out more too.
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Some other quirks that are really unclear whether it’s typical for Falin or chimera-influenced:
she enters rooms through windows, sometimes. And given the leaves in her hair, I think it’s reasonable to assume this is not the first floor 💀 But who knows! Maybe that’s not new for Falin.
She points out that Laios’s scent could deter monsters. Maybe she has enhanced smell. But again, it isn’t unreasonable to think this is something she would have said before. (I think even Chilchuck and Izutsumi, whose senses of smell are enhanced, can’t identify scents well. Kuro, however, can.)
VIOLENCE! But again, we’ve seen her beat shit with her staff before, and she also used to wield a flail. It IS a trait for red dragons to fight any large threat, so if anything, she’s got even better monster fighting instincts than before. I don't think this would carry over to people. Falin has always been better with people, and I'm personally not a fan of seeing her depicted as territorial or possessive. Marcille is already the possessive one, and didn't need dragon blood to be like that.
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Ultimately, I don't think her dragon traits extend much farther beyond this. Especially when you consider How Little the dragon is represented as in her conscience.
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it's not like it's a 50/50 split. She's like a person with a dragon ratatouille. I don't think she'd be able to make dragon noises. I don't think her body is built for that. I know there's like, a set list of tropey characteristics that are given to almost every non-human character in fiction. and sure that's FINE but they tend not to be especially personalized to the character, and tend to just be an excuse to write them OOC. Like, sure, dragons may have instincts regarding sleep habits, hunting, courting, raising young, etc etc, but so do humans! And we don't compulsively act on every instinctual whim we have. I don't see why it'd be any harder for her new dragon instincts.
If anything, I think she'd feel more affected by the fact that she has part of the demon in her.
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I don't think Falin's in any sort of trouble. All the demon was was a way to communicate with people. Here, it's representing Falin's tether to the infinite realm, to mana itself. The winged lion no longer has the desire to consume anymore because, yknow, Laios has that now. This is very likely why she no longer needs to chant to cast magic.
But what else does this mean for her? She already had unusually high reserves of mana + an innate connection with spirits, but is her mana essentially limitless now? How would that affect her lifespan? I'm leaning towards, it wouldn't really?? But is she immune to mana sickness now? Is it more like her magic is just sort of amplified like it would be in a dungeon?
We can infer that having more mana doesn't increase your lifespan, because-- while elves and gnomes have both naturally high levels of mana and longer lifespans-- dwarves live longer but have lowest levels of mana of all.
So to answer your question! Maybe a little bit?? But I don't think she'd change a whole lot.
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icewindandboringhorror · 1 year ago
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Other Misc. Rambling Thoughts on the topic:
(~ !!!!!!!!! if you're just reblogging this post for the Poll section, please reblog the original post without this addition* lol. ~)
(*not that there's anything super personal or weird about the addition, just that it's meant to be kind of casual Side Commentary, not really part of the Main Point Of The Poll, so it would feel kind of weird for it to be emphasized by being included in reblogs unless the reblogs were explicitly about the side commentary, etc..... if that makes sense.. ANYWAY!)
It's neat to read the written descriptions that people are mentioning in the tags, since it's almost like I can see or conceptualize the idea as well, but it's just.. I'm not SEEING it.
Like for example: I can imagine a vase, it's a muted mint green and slightly translucent, elaborate golden birds sprawled down the side in streaks of thin rough watery paint, the base material shimmers gently in the light, there's a small chip where it's cracked on the handle, etc, etc. .. But as I'm thinking about this I see literally nothing.
It seems like perhaps some people can visualize an object first, and THEN describe what they see. But I sort of work backwards. I am building the object in my mind, I can never see it, but it's a collection of concepts. Rather than visualizing all details as a whole at once, I am adding each detail one by one, building onto the IDEA of the thing.
The vase doesn't have a crack on the handle because I just automatically visualized a vase with a crack. It was more that I cognitively understand the concept of a vase, what they tend to be made out of, how they tend to look and feel, the properties they have. So based purely on that knowledge, I can imagine "a chip is something that a vase could have, it would look this way and behave this way" - more like... I'm constructing a bullet point Fact List about the object rather than seeing it.
So if you tell me to imagine an object, I can, in a way, imagine that object in great detail, but it's just.. I'm not SEEING those details, more just knowing it's qualities in a purely conceptual way. Sometimes in the tags when people are like "yeah I can see the skin of the apple, texture, little dots on the surface" it's like… I can imagine that too, I can know it's there, but just with no visual attached.
I guess rather than SEEING something and going ''ah. I know what this looks like because I have seen it''. I more just skip that visual step entirely and go ''I know what this looks like, I just randomly have a list of information about the concept in my mind.'' etc. Maybe similar to how sometimes in dreams, even though a house may look completely different and be in an entirely fake 'dreamlike' environment, you just somehow KNOW intuitively that it's meant to be your childhood home or something. Even when it looks nothing like it in reality. There's a built-in base knowledge of the properties or information of some things within a dreaming mind, etc.
--
This also makes me wonder about like.. how storytelling and myth is so important to cultures all across time. Or how this could tie also into concepts of religion.. etc. etc. If so many people really can kind of conjure these vivid images in their mind, then maybe that's part of why certain things are so meaningful to them? Like a "religious experience" being something you can actually really SEE/feel/lingering with you in your head, rather than just abstract words on a page, detached purely theoretical ideas, etc... hmmm
.
Plus also just for average emotional stuff too, even outside of broader cultural conceptual attachments..
Like, I don't think there's a direct 1 to 1 link (obviously not all people with mental illnesses that significantly reduce their emotional or expressive capacity also MUST have aphantasia or vice versa), but it's interesting as someone who DOES also have a much more lessened emotional range/pretty flat affect/etc. etc. to think like.. Maybe I WOULD be more emotional, in a way, if I could have these vivid experiences..?
Perhaps memories would hold deeper significance if they could really stay with me vividly. Or storytelling would evoke more of a deep emotional reaction to me if I could really picture and feel the things that are going on. If things were more TANGIBLE in my brain, rather than always merely conceptual highly abstracted ideas.
Kind of like, it's probably easier to get over the death of a pet or something, if after not seeing them for an hour you already don't remember what they looked like (beyond just a vague fact list of traits), and you have no vivid memories or mental reminders of them (beyond just factual information stores). COGNTIVIELY you can appreciate the idea of their absence, of course, you still miss them, but there's just no remaining visceral sensory ties. A very "out of sight, out of mind" sort of thing in terms of attachments, memories, emotions, etc. Maybe certain things are easier to "get over", when you're not having constant mental sensory reminders that occasionally rekindle your feelings about the event or etc.??
(like for example, maybe someone could remain angry about an argument longer if they could vividly replay it in their head over and over again. VS just like.. 'Yes I can factually recall the fact I had an argument, and I do have knowledge stored about what precisely was said, but any sort of sensory data such as sights/smells/feelings, etc. from the actual moment of the event are long gone and can never be conjured again in my mind." etc.)
Which again, I think lessened emotional permanence and image permanence in the mind are NOT inherently linked, can all be caused by different things for different people. And, since I can't visualize anything in my head, maybe I'm misunderstanding how it happens and the effect it may have on stuff like remembering things you miss or replaying arguments, etc. etc. But it's still a little interesting to think about, if they could influence each other to some degree.... :0c --
Lastly, It's also weird because I'm actually pretty good at estimating distance and spaces? I can quickly assemble furniture without an instruction manual, pretty easily have a concept of how much space a chair may take up in a room, how two mechanical parts might fit together - BUT, I am literally not actually visualizing anything. I cannot see 3D objects in my mind at ALL. It's like.. just based on the pure List Of Facts About Things Which I Have Observed.. I can intuitively go "oh this works like this/this is this size" just because.. I know it's that size. I don't have to see anything to know..?
But then on the other hand, I'm terrible at directions without a map (I guess because a 3d outdoor environment has WAY more complexity than like.. "Will this square fit into another square?"etc. lol ).
BUT, I also draw/sculpt/etc. entirely without references, and seem to do mostly okay at that..? Like.. I can't even remember the last time I actually used a reference or looked at anything whilst drawing. It's all muscle memory, and me just adjusting as I go until something "looks right" on paper, I never have a set image in my head (or external reference) before hand.. Hrmm....
AND.. I used to say that I had a photographic memory when I was younger, which I know NOW is not true (I always thought it was just an expression, not that people could literally see things in a photographic way). But what I was describing is, I do often associate information with imagery, just... without imagery....
Like "Oh, I know that I took my medicine earlier today because I have a distinct memory, a snapshot of a moment in time, of me rattling the pill bottle in my hands as I looked up at a stop sign while in the back seat of a car". When I say this, I can't ACTUALLY see/feel/hear a pill bottle, or vividly picture a stop sign, but it's more just a factual recall, of. Even though I don't see these things, I know they happened, the information of them happening (me hearing a sound and also looking at a stop sign at the same time) has been stored in my brain as a memory, a collection of linked facts. --
As for other senses, I cannot taste or feel anything in my head AT ALL.. wild that some people mention that. I mean, again, I can have a purely factual recall as if reading a textbook, knowing the information of 'X item typically has X texture, therefore I can imagine what it may be like to feel it' or 'X usually has this taste' etc. - but I can never actually experience those senses in any capacity in my mind alone. I would say audio is my strongest mental sense (maybe a 2.5 or 3 (if it were translated onto the above scale where 1 is most vivid and 5 is nothing)), then visual (4.5 at most, usually 5), and then taste and smell and such are just complete 5, absolutely nothing, I didn't even know people could experience taste or feeling just in their mind alone.. lol...
I know this is just a silly bad quality random screencap of a screencap that I found on facebook lol, BUT it's a succinct enough image to easily describe the concept in a quick/accessible way hopefully :
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(and of course, feel free to elaborate in tags, etc.! (especially elaborating about other senses as well.. can you "hear" in your mind just as well as you can "see"? taste? etc.) It's an interesting topic to me, as someone who's like a 4.5 at MOST lol. I'm curious what option will be the most common :0c )
#repeat reblog#Hrmm.... this must be why you all like reading books so much lol… option 5.. so few of us…#Also I wonder if this is why I'm a more detail oriented writer. Like if I was making a story I would first have to plot out information#about the location. draw a map of the room the chararcters are in. sketch the characters. their outfits. do a lot of plotting and planning#about how the world and the setting works and what plants might be there and so on and so forth. Because I'm working#more from a factual knowledge base of like 'bullet point list of things I know about this setting/object/person/etc'#rather than actually just being able to see it in my mind. So to really conceptualize a person/place/thing - I have to build it#from the ground up conceptually. Gathering and organizing all the information about it until I have a Full Mental Concept of it - and THEN#I can work with it from there. But maybe someone who just Pictures all that in their brain from the beginning can kind of skip that step.#Like for example I literally have NO idea what any of my characters look like until I draw them. I have to actively decide what they look#like and think about all of those details and create the List Of Factual Information (black hair. green eyes. this tall. etc.) from scratch#. where the friend I talked to on the phone recently said that they literally just like... picture the character. like they just SEE them#doing stuff and know from there. And of course i have an IDEA of what I may want a characters appearnce to be or properties that would suit#them based on their Concept and Personality. but I literally do not know. And even when writing or thinking about characters doing things#I cannot visualize them no matter how hard I try. It's all theoretical factual recall for me. Also my friend said that to THEM the saying#''the characters write themselves'' was interpreted to mean.. they can literally sit down & watch the characters do things and it's as#if they are just creating a story in their mind from thin air. it writes itself. Where for ME I have always interpreted it to mean ''I have#undertaken the process of analyzing and plotting every detail of this character SO deeply that I know them SO well down to even#how they would walk or hold a pencil. and thus because I have such an intimate understanding of every intricacy of their personality. It's#extremely easy to just Put Them Into A Situation and assume exactly how they'd react/ exactly what they'd say because based#on what has factually been determined about them and their personality/worldview/etc. it's just.. literally automatic. The same way that#if you knew a friend's preferences extremely well you could probably easily predict how they'd respond to a birthday gift'' etc.#hmm.. ANYWAY... Which my friend may be an extreme example. I feel like it'd be obvious even for writers without aphantasia to STILL sit#down and plot out details & intimately understand their characters/setting/etc. But the idea that for ANYONE it's like ''yeah I dont have t#think much about designing the layout of a room/place/etc. I just kind of SEE it in my mind and know automatically''.... wild... lol#It makes it seem like I'm always having to do like 500 tons of extra work that other people can just skip .. oughh#''well after writing them for a YEAR and fully conceptualizing their personality and going through 15 sketch drafts. i have FINALLY#decided on an appearance for my character'' ... ''erm.. i have been seeing my character since day 1.. what do you mean?'' ... lol#ANYWAY.. and thank you to those who have sent in asks abt your experiences.. very inchresting.. sorry not posting/responding yet since im#still a bit sick feeling and energy is very scattered/low social ability/etc... even this post i typed over the course of days lol..
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hxney-lemcn · 2 months ago
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Mine, Only Mine — Mr. Crawling, Gap, Silvair, Chopped, Hugeface, and Scarletella x gn! reader
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summery: how jealous do some of the Homicipher boys get?
tw: unhealthy relationships (Mr. Hugeface & Scarletella)
wc: 1.2k
Master List
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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Crawling
❥I know people have written about how he gets jealous…but I don’t really think he does? Or at least not terribly. The scene with Mr. Chopped and the cat ears show that Mr. Crawling won’t pout or get sad at you showing affection to others, just that he wants to gain the same attention (the ear scene…). So jealousy with Mr. Crawling isn’t too bad, just be prepared to shower him with more affection than the person you originally did. 
❥On the other hand, I do think his jealousy may increase if you ignore him. Say you give more attention to Mr. Scarletella, Mr. Crawling would get a bit sad and pouty, thinking you don’t like him anymore. If this happens, give him lots and lots of attention and reassurance, he’ll be super grateful. I mean he loves your affection anyways, so might as well give him some extra headpats and kisses. Even better if you only show certain signs of affection with him, it makes him feel special. 
❥Overall, not the most jealous, but not completely unaffected either. Make sure he gets his daily dose of attention/quality time and he’ll be as right as rain.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Gap
❥Uh, he gets more jealous than you’d think. Like…his whole thing is he wants to be special to you…in his own strange way. Doesn’t like the thought of someone taking his place as a jokester to you. Also why he brings you things he’d think you like from time to time, just to make sure you still have that special place in your heart for him <3
❥Hates hate hates when you call him bad or not good. He’s good! He swears! Remember how he’s helped you before! Gets all frowny when you call him not good and then call someone else good. He’s good too! Guess he has to prove it, AGAIN. It’s honestly kind of endearing how he has no clue how he actually kind of does like you? But not exactly in a romantic way? It’s honestly hard to label his feelings towards you, so why should I?
❥I’d say he’s the second most jealous in this list of characters, watching on angrily as you praise someone that isn’t him. Be prepared for magazines and books galore when he’s in this mood, trying to prove his worth to you. Kind of strange for someone to try so hard when they claim to not like you…
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Silvair
❥Definitely the chillest one here. Doesn’t really get jealous at all :/ If anything, he finds it entertaining when you’re affectionate with others. Gives him more insight to his lab rats. Yes, he sees everyone as a lab rat. Idk, I can’t really see him get jealous.
❥Maybe…MAYBE if someone else tries doing research on you, or if Ms. Nurse treats you instead he’ll feel a bit off. Like…you’re his test subject, he knows you from the inside out…literally and not in the fun sense. Why would you go to someone who doesn’t know as much about you and how this world affects you? It’s very hard to spot his jealousy, doesn’t even notice it/recognize it himself. He just doesn’t want anyone to mess up his data…that’s all…totally.
❥In conclusion, not really jealous. Doesn’t feel like he needs to be. You’re ‘friends’, doctor and patient, mad scientist and lab rat not many others threaten that balance between you. 
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Chopped
❥Honestly…Mr. Chopped I’m kinda mixed on how he’d be. Like on one hand, I could totally see him getting jealous if you call others cute or pay too much attention to them. On the other…he could probably care less. He loves himself, you love him, why does he need to get jealous? It’s clear how much you like him with the way you pamper him. I mean we get so many examples where you’re affectionate to Mr. Crawling in front of Mr. Chopped and he doesn’t really bat an eye. 
❥Now, I can see if he gets a bit insecure he might get more jealous. Whether it be because Mr. Crawling pats your head or tucks you into bed, Mr. Chopped feels a bit sad. He’d like to tuck you in, you look so comfy. Might be just a bit pouty, eyeing you like a dissatisfied cat. Easily rectified with head pats or even cuddles. Gets side tracked from his jealousy as soon as you give him a sliver of attention honestly.
❥Mr. Chopped is fifty fifty when it comes to jealousy, but it’s never too bad. He’s pretty comfortable with what you both have and doesn’t really feel threatened by others. After all, you did call him cute.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Hugeface
❥I wouldn’t say he gets jealous? More possessive than anything. Like that scene when Mr. Machete stumbles into his little makeshift dollhouse that he made for you and gets all angry that he’s there. It’s more of a ‘you’re not supposed to be here, this is our playtime’ more than actual jealousy. Throws a little fit whenever someone messes up your playtime. Very accusatory lmao.
❥Does not like when you try to escape. Was he not providing enough for you? Were you unhappy? You’re not allowed to leave! You’re his cute human! He can’t just find another one y’know. Mr. Hugeface may be lenient if he sees you happier, you need enrichment after all. Feels extra happy if you come back on your own violation. 
❥The most childish out of all the characters on this list. Isn’t afraid to throw tantrums, will also punish you by putting you in a solid concrete cube if he’s really upset. Yeah…not the most healthy of relationships to have…BUT! I do think you could convince him to be a bit better…? Maybe? Only if you put enough work in communicating with him though. Maybe punish him in your own way like leaving for longer if he threatens to trap you.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Scarletella
❥Uhhhhhhhhhhh. Top of the list when it comes to jealousy. Watches your every move with curiosity and spite. Why are you doing that to Mr. Crawling? Do it to him instead. Why do you look so happy braiding Mr. Chopped’s hair? Style his hair instead. Why are you looking so fondly amused at Mr. Gap? Don’t you find him amusing? You do like him, right? He likes you. He likes you a lot, and he thought he was enough…was he not?
❥Will stare through your skull. It is so intimidating. His smile? Strained, it makes your skin crawl. You have to make sure he doesn’t hurt your friends, he’s so close to snapping, but he knows that would upset you and that’s not his goal. So instead he stands ominously in the background, body staticing in and out while his hand clenches the handle of his umbrella. 
❥Not that easily mended. Likes to monopolize all your time and affection. Needs constant reassurance as well, he’s quite needy. If you like constant validation and no social life go for it, just don’t get too upset if he threatens your other monster friends…he can’t stand that you could like someone that wasn’t him.
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flowersforthemachines · 27 days ago
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Some facts about Lucanis (and also Spite and the Crows) gathered from the banters
I went through all companion banters on DanaDuchy's channel after playing the game to write down all facts about companions/the world that I haven't seen brought up anywhere in the game as a writing reference (and for funsies).
Note: This list may not be exhaustive. I might have missed some something or didn't write it down because I considered it common knowledge. If you have anything to add, please DM me or send an ask! (do specify what banter the information is coming from, though)
Note 2: Posts from this series (mostly) don't include information from banters specific to quests or between companions and faction members. I plan to do another playthrough to capture more of those and will add any relevant info to the character posts.
Other characters' posts: Bellara, Davrin, Harding, Emmrich, Neve, Taash. I'm also planning a post about just the Lighthouse some time later
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About Lucanis: 
Family and the past:
Lucanis learnt to cook while helping the kitchen staff at the villa when he was a little boy. One of his motivations was learning how to make churros
Side note: Lucanis mentions that cioccolata calda was his favourite drink when he was a baby, and he serves churros to a romanced Rook who picks cioccolata calda as their favourite drink. It’s all coming together! 
Lucanis wanted to be a Crow when he was a child (at least most of the time)  
All of Lucanis's relatives were Crows as well, and all of them were killed by a rival Crow house
Lucanis says Caterina would be proud of Illario hiding his plans well, as well as killing her 
Lucanis says that the hard part about setting Illario free would be convincing Caterina 
Lucanis says that nightlife was more of Illario's thing, and he never got out as much
On Crows and Antiva:
Viago still stares daggers at Lucanis for throwing his (Viago's) pet snake out of the window in a dream
Lucanis doesn't like it when people confuse murder and assassination ("Murderers are hobbyists, we are professionals")
Lucanis has taken contracts in Orlais
Lucanis doesn’t know Treviso as well as he once used to 
Heir didn’t train Lucanis
Lucanis says he has never killed an innocent “by his count” (other people may disagree) 
Lucanis doesn’t think of the Crows as a “big organisation” (unlike the Inquisition) because they stab each other too much
Lucanis became a mage-killer at Caterina’s behest (she wanted to tap into new markets)
The nickname “The Demon of Vyrantium” came from Tevinter news-sheets, though Lucanis thinks Viago started it
Lucanis says that there aren't any special tricks to killing mages. Though, if nothing else works, you can try pissing them off, as that could attract a demon that would eat the mage
Lucanis once killed half a dozen venatori while stuck inside an elevator 
Lucanis doesn’t consider himself a gentleman assassin, manners are less important than getting the job done
Lucanis sometimes spares his targets. He mentioned letting go of a servant who killed her master, as well as a 14-year-old boy. He thinks it’s wrong to kill people so young because they still have time to change
Lucanis doesn’t accept contracts without merit, and the merit is decided by the talon of the house
General:
Lucanis can make bread
Lucanis has never been to Ferelden
Lucanis isn’t interested in killing wyverns, just looking at them :)  
Lucanis has a pet snake 
Lucanis stays awake at night by cleaning his gear, exercising, studying Orlesian and knitting ("it’s just another kind of blade work") 
Lucanis doesn’t understand a lot of things people find attractive
(In a conversation with Harding) Thinking about cooking was one of the things that helped Lucanis stay sane in the Ossuary (the other was thinking about killing his enemies) 
(In a conversation with Davrin) Lucanis survived the Ossuary by shutting down and not thinking about anything except escaping
These two points sort of contradict each other. Either an inconsistency or Lucanis describing his experience differently to different people. 
The Wetlands ruined at least one pair of Lucanis’s boots
(If Rook chooses to save Treviso) Lucanis offers to pay for any supplies the Shadow Dragons may need 
Lucanis doesn't get a better bed because he's afraid of accidentally falling asleep 
Lucanis can identify the killer’s weapon and the height difference between them and the target just through the blood splatter left at the scene
Lucanis considers Grey Wardens dangerous 
Lucanis doesn’t like necromancy, because bringing people back to life is a waste of hard work
Lucanis finds the ice coffee from Minrathous offensive (Harding describes it as “snow, but made of coffee, sweet, and with cream and toffee sauce on top”)
Lucanis had never been in a romantic relationship before Rook/Neve
Relationships with other companions: 
Lucanis gets into reading Bellara’s serials (very passionately - they chat about it a bunch)
Lucanis is outraged that the Veil Jumpers don’t get paid for their work and offers Bellara his contract negotiator
Lucanis made biscuits for Assan
Lucanis is sceptical that the griffons will be safe with the Wardens
Lucanis think that Assan shouldn’t go soft (referring to the time he took care of a halla) because he is a predator at heart
(If Emmrich becomes a lich) Lucanis offers to hold a funeral for Manfred
Lucanis and Harding talk a lot about dreams (mostly silly things like showing up naked for the job, getting chased by someone/something etc.)
Lucanis thinks Harding is deadly with her bow
Lucanis offers to pay Harding for being his lookout/aide at the rate of 6000 gold per contract
Lucanis offers the help of his contract negotiator to Neve after he finds out she doesn't have one
Lucanis made deep-fried peppers for Taash
About Spite: 
Emmrich can hear Spite even when he doesn’t take over Lucanis’s body (at least from a close distance)
Spite is impartial to Emmrich, believing him more than Lucanis
Emmrich says it’s impossible to separate Spite and Lucanis without killing them
Emmrich encourages Lucanis to read to Spite to bring them closer. Lucanis agrees to let Spite pick a book
(If Emmrich becomes a lich) Spite asks if he and Lucanis can get rid of their skin too 
(If Manfred is revived at the Necropolis) Spite asks Emmrich to teach him how to use fire magic. Lucanis isn’t thrilled by the idea
Emmrich sets up wards to prevent Spite from leaving the room when Lucanis is asleep
Spite no longer sleepwalks after “Inner Demons” because he apparently understood the concept of space
By the end of the game, Spite has agreed to stop sleepwalking completely
Spite controls the wings (confirmed in banter with Harding) 
Spite wants to try swinging off the astrolabe at the Lighthouse
Spite is very excited about Manfred having hands and feet (Curiosity. Has. Feet!)
Spite finds the wisps in Neve’s room unnerving (as do Lucanis and Neve)
Spite likes to play with whetstones Bellara got for Lucanis (Bellara got them from the Irelin who supposedly got them from somewhere in Arlathan) 
Spite wants to try eating self-lightning candles at Blackthorne Manor
About the Crows: 
Crows frequently visit Nevarra and have received 20 contacts to assassinate the king. The King has been poisoned 7 times
Crows get a lot of contracts for Divine Victoria
Some seers in Rivain are powerful enough that there are contracts on them as well
Caterina once killed a man with a thimble
When Crows kill someone, most of the time they want others to know it was them (rather than presenting the death as an accident) 
The crows buried six different Eight Talons and rarely take contracts in Ferelden after the Zevran fiasco
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matsunoluvr · 6 months ago
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୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ how I think the boys from love and deepspace would give a first kiss :3
warnings: suggestive content (obviously?), writing might be out of character, spoilers in general, i get carried away explaining everything because i'm afraid of being accused of mischaracterisation
[story spoiler] first kiss = first kiss where mc is a hunter/the timeline in game
authors notes: i have favourites and it will show CLEARLY in my writing… sorry (not sorry no1 rafayel stan) and i am a yapper
characters: rafayel, xavier, zayne and sylus
link to my master list here!!
more below the cut :3
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sorry rafayel... but i feel like he's the most unskilled at kisses because - hear me out - you're his very first kiss. lemurians as a species seem to value bonds and loyalty, and as the literal sea god he wasn't able to nor wanted to just hook up or mess around - he's looking for devotion!!!
(okay, we ignore the kiss in forgotten sea myth story because like come on there was literally no romance mc was drowning)
definitely waits a while before kissing you, rayafel really takes his time to fall into place. after all, he needs to make sure his beloved bride/groom is well and truly his!!!
the type to wait for the ‘right moment’ - but doesn’t force or stage it ykwim? like the time comes naturally - e.g. watching the sunset, or you’re leaning close to him whilst he’s painting
he’s a romantic 100% like there’s a reason his 'floral promise' card was (imo) way fluffier compared to the others - like xavier's was tender-ish but rafayel was fucking melting
he's a sweet talker I just know it.
that charm he uses on his clients? he doesn't want to nor will he manipulate you with it but you know he's going to ramp up the charm to tease you a little
definitely knows his effect on you and uses it to his full advantage (cough cough fiery undercurrents secret times) like whispering in your ear, making excuses to touch you or get close to you
(i think he’d be more 'traditional' because of lemurian customs - the whole bonding + [forgotten sea spoilers] the sea god ceremony where the mc must devote themselves to rafayel displaying a strong level of devotion)
SUCH A GENTLE KISSER OMG like compared to his almost bratty and childish personality he’s a gentleman when it comes to kisses (also because he's kind of unsure what to do...)
the type to tuck strand of your hair behind your ear, fiddle with it a little maybe twirl it around his finger before trailing a finger along your jawline... i can see him like massaging your ear too? idk how to describe it he's a handsy man
first kiss was definitely more sweet than passionate ugawhriulgs he's such a cutie
right after the first kiss i think he’d be pretty affectionate, rather than bratty/tsundere since for him to kiss someone i believe he’d really need to love them (and therefore is more open to being vulnerable)
affectionate as in saying something cheesy probably, commenting on how you tasted or another one of his poetic, artistic quotes (dw raf we love it)
wouldn't be satisfied with just one after that, i can see him going in for a more passionate second and even a third (i mean look at his 'floral promise' memory OR 'fiery undercurrents') in the same few minutes
these follow up kisses would probably be longer and way less chaste, hands moving from tilting your chin up to your waist ahahahahahuwfa
you'd have to show him the appeal of tongue if that's your thing because he's seen it before but never really saw what was nice about it
"But... you're just drinking each other's saliva?" "Rafayel that's hot-"
definitely relived the moment in his head hundreds of times after that night - and you bet your ass he painted a piece inspired from your first kiss with him
any kisses after that i feel like they would follow this default pattern;
if he initiated the kiss i think he’d be more cocky and teasing, especially if he surprised you with one and he sees your flustered face
“Didn’t expect that huh, cutie?”
if you surprised him, however, get ready for typical rafayel childish behaviour, blushing and averting his eyes, covering his mouth with the back of his hand and a pout
“Hey- what was that for!!” Σ(・□・;)
either way rafayel is the worlds silliest man and would cave into literally anything with just a few kisses from you
ALSO KISS HIS COLLAR BONES AND YOU'VE GOT A WHOLE NEW SCENARIO TO UNFOLD
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oh i just have a feeling this man is devouring you because puh-LEASEE?? sir we aren't forgetting your 'tender night' card i know that night was anything but tender
xavier is the definition of pent-up desire because this man has been waiting a LONG time and he's not going to be able to hold back very well
(taking heavy inspiration from his '21 days' memory because with his reaction it kind of feels like his first kiss with mc... but tbh i don't know much about xavi)
he's definitely not shy when it comes down to it, yeah he gets flustered if he thinks about it because of course imagining kissing the person he's pined over for centuries is going to fluster the shit out of him but he doesn't shy away form the idea or avoid the topic in conversation
i feel like he'd bring it up casually - like in the 'partner go go' event (aka heartbreaker-chasing-rhythm-game event) he was so insistent on the 'kissing page'
mc was like "apparently you can solve arguments with a kiss" and this mf straight up said "we can argue then" this man is STARVED
i feel like you'd need to initiate the kiss or give him very clear signs you'd be okay with a kiss for it to happen, i don't know why i just feel like he's that type of person
the first kiss is deep despite him trying his best to hold back - you can just feel his desire and longing oozing out of him and he's definitely on fucking cloud nine
xavier's holding your face and stroking his thumb along your cheek and god damn he's good at kissing where the fuck did he learn this from?
the type to break the kiss and then fucking bulldoze into the next one and my god his restraints have broken and he's actually kissing you as if it's the last thing he's able to do on earth
100% a tongue user he's biting at your bottom lip before slipping it in the sly minx
after the kiss he's more flustered than he expected to be - kissing the love of his life (literally) sends him into a flurry of emotions he's never really experienced before
given how possessive xavier is i wouldn't be surprised if halfway through making out he managed to leave a hickey or two in very. visible. places.
he isn't even pretending to feel guilty in the slightest, a smug grin as he shrugs out a half-assed apology.
"Sorry, I guess you'll have to try hide it. Or don't, that would be easier."
if you leave any marks on him he's not leaving you along that night. forget sleeping you two are recreating 'tender night' ALL night.
but seriously, if you leave hickeys over his neck (his canonical sensitive area and where he feels vulnerable) he's going to go crazy because what do you mean you want everyone to know he's yours??? what do you mean you want him as much as he wants you??
tldr; xavier is unusually talented with his mouth and is desperate to prove it to you.
i accidentally wrote way more for xavier than i expected i even cut out some bits holy crap maybe i’m more into xavi than i thought
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oh no... zayne you beautiful man i am so sorry... (here comes the one character i have no idea how to characterise + no clue about his lore zayne fans pls bear with me)
okay - zayne looks like a gentleman and i'm sure he very much is even in intimate moments, but i cannot get rid of the idea that his first kiss w you was lowk spicyyyyy
like OH MY GOD I JUST WATCHED SNOWY SERENITY RN I FUCKIGN KNEW IT
that man was pouncing on you in a hospital bed, dishevelled, and kissing you deep my god like the type of kiss that literally as you forgetting where you are
i feel like zayne would be the one to initiate the kiss, again no idea why maybe i'm falling into the dominant zayne agenda
you're probably surprised when he kisses you because he's usually so composed, the 'cold unfeeling' dr zayne - then suddenly he's panting and pushing himself on top of you (consensually of course), pinning you down and going to town.
when he kisses you i don't think he's much of a lip biter, but if you bite his lips or lick at him or anything he's not opposed, as long as your lips are on his and vice versa
after the first kiss he's going straight into another one, his patience has thinned to the point of snapping and now he just needs you.
his hands what does he do with his hands? i'm thinking the typical otome face hold, gentle grasp juxtaposing his fervent kisses LOL
now, why does he kiss you?? how does this all build up? unfortunately all i can think of to match this scenario is something angsty or something along the lines of zayne has fucking had it and all he wants is you
"I need you... please."
this is the type of kiss where he wants to drown in you, breathe you in and just smother his being into yours to forget and erase whatever else is happening/happened
if he's kissing you and pinning you down and you bring up your hand to interlock fingers with him - your warm hands against his cool hands? wow his kissing is all of a sudden even more passionate.
after the little make out session he's going to go all mushy on you, physical affection of an embrace something uncharacteristic of him to match his dishevelled state
in kisses after the first i like the idea that he checks your pulse mid make-out and just silently smirks/chuckles when he notices it's faster and more erratic than usual
"Why are you nervous, this isn't our first time."
he also has this sneaky habit of whispering incredibly close to your ear, the reason why i choose to point this out it because i feel like sometimes he uses his evol to his advantage to like, breathe out cool air on your neck/ear and likes to watch you shiver
the ultimate dominant figure if you try to kiss him first and take control he somehow manages to overcome you and take the lead without using his strength, just good ol' sweet talking and technique
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congratulations, you managed to snatch a kiss from the renown leader sylus!!!
i can see why people would think he's promiscuous or a fuck-boy because honestly i see it, but imo just because he is more flirtatious, assertive and... responsive (try tapping his... crotch... in the café LOL) does NOT = play boy
to me it just shows that - unlike the other LIs - sylus is just more forward with his approach, he has that devil-may-care like feel to him ykwim?
"Do I like you? What type of question is that, isn't it obvious? Or do I need to show you?" is much different to "Hey baby girl lemme rock your world tnite xx"
but just because he's got a 'fuck-all' attitude doesn't mean he fucks around with random people, he's 1. got standards and 2. living in the n109 zone?? do you THINK he can afford to let random people close just to fuck???
that being said i don't think he's a kiss virgin, just very selective and honest man when it comes to love and physical intimacy
now, when i say he isn't a fuckboy, that doesn't mean i don't believe in cocky-smugass-know-it-all sylus - he kisses well. and with PASSION. and probably the worst part is that he knows it.
first kiss with sylus? i can't imagine him making a large fuss about it like rafayel, nor it having to be some "i'm-at-deaths-door-and-need-to-kiss-you-atleast-once" situation like zayne, but no matter where or when you two share a first kiss he is making sure you remember
that being said, there was definitely a LOT of romantic and sexual tension between you and sylus for at least weeks before the kiss, i mean the air was thick with suggestive glances and denial
i think you two'd have to already be in close proximity which is very easy to achieve with sylus (touchiest man award goes to him) for the first kiss to initiate
he's grabbing your waist, or your face, makings sure your eyes are on. him. as you two kiss. watching with delight no matter what reactions you have, he admires you through surprised and flustered to confident and defiant
rather than a tender first kiss it’s probably a full blown make out session, just desire and lust flooding out of the both of you after having built up for over a month.
assertive does not mean he's going to force a kiss on you to clear this up, more that he likes to take the initiative and take control as you two kiss <3
yeah he's into biting (wow what a big shock) - likes biting your ear, or neck, or bottom lip, one time he tried nipping at your tongue too.
you can bite him back, he likes it.
"Hah, looks like someone is baring their claws tonight..." he’s really into that whole cat thing huh.
what does mr sylus do with his hands? waist, hips, ass, around your neck, pulling your face in by squeezing your cheeks, fingers threading through the hair on the back of your head, you name it he does it. again, i think sylus is a touchy man.
he doesn't mind if you try to take control, just dont expect to be successful. different to zayne - as in he will overcome your control with his evol and strength…
inappropriate use of his evol has occurred (he ‘tied’ you up and made out with you (CONSENSUALLY))
after his affinity 15 (i think) memory i can just tell he’s freaky with it bruhhh so yeah handcuffs are probably something he indulges in
if you’re persistent or physically overcome sylus you might get rewarded with a resigned, more submissive sylus
the idea or sight of someone man handling/overcoming his strength really sets him off.. i mean have you seen “no defence zone”?? but you’re really going to need to work to get him to this stage, and he’s going to have to love you
“No one’s ever seen me like this, lying on my back and begging for you.”
secretly finds out through you that he enjoys being dominated (BRAT SYLUS FOR 2024) so climb on top of him and kiss him until he’s blushing and panting hahahahahaha
tldr: sylus isn’t a fuck-boy but he sure kisses like one
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AN; as an ao3 writer may say, no beta we die like caleb i wrote half of this when i was half asleep LMAOO anyways i hope this was okay please dont attack me BYE
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r0semaryt3a · 8 months ago
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Loved your dating hc's!!! They all felt really convincing and in character 💕💕 How do you think the pt (preferably chrollo, uvo, phinks and feitan if thats too many) sleep next to u?? are they cuddlers, kickers, white noise users, midnight bathroom breakers, snorers or whatever else?
Ahhh glad to hear it!! I’ve only really wrote a lot about Chrollo so I was worried the others were OOC-
I’ve only really been thinking of writing for Chrollo, Feitan, Phinks, Shalnark, Machi and Paku but given as you asked for Uvo I’ll add another onto that list! (Small spoiler warning: I love the troupe, but they’re all messy sleepers and I won’t be convinced otherwise!)
Chrollo
He definitely has a night mask, incense and all that to help him doze off. Chrollo is a chronic suffer of predormitional insomnia: his mind runs a million a minute, man is NOT used to sleeping a healthy 8hrs.
You can guarantee if Chrollo falls asleep before you (a very rare event) you’ll find him stiff as a log. He falls asleep in whatever position he’s in and will stay there until he wakes up. Honestly, it’s a wonder he isn’t ridden with all sorts of issues (get him a chiropractor one day.)
On the other 364 days a year when he falls asleep after you, well aren’t you just the perfect little teddy bear! His arms are always wrapped around you tightly.
If you happen to be a light sleeper? You’ll definitely wake up in the middle of the night to his face buried into the crook of your neck; fingers tapping away at your abdomen as his breathing settles, the smell of lavender drowning out any other senses. So definitely a cuddler. (I will die on this hill)
Sometimes he might even pepper your neck with kisses if he notices you’re awake.
If you’re a heavier sleeper? You better get used to waking up in the morning under a vice like grip, a mat of black hair brushing against your cheek and -whether he’s awake or not- you’re not getting out of it
Big spooner, you could be twice the height of him and he’d still demand it.
Not much of a snorer, maybe the few light hitches here and there but overall he’s sound asleep.
Most nights when Chrollo can’t sleep, he’ll sit up with a book in one hand and his other arm wrapped around your sleeping form. Sometimes he’ll doze off and sometimes he’ll only be brought away from his book by your stirring.
On particularly bad nights, where his insomnia truly flairs up, you’ll have to listen to a plethora of podcasts or “soothing sounds” for him to actually sleep. And yes, you’ll have to listen to them. There’s something innately intimate about having you indulge him in his interests: makes it far easier to sleep.
Feitan
You cannot tell if this man is awake or asleep 9/10.
“You sleep. I watch.” Kind of deal, he has many things to preoccupy himself with: like watching you! (In a: ‘someone takes even one step in this general direction, you’ll have a lullaby of screaming to doze off to’ kind of way)
It’s not that he can’t sleep, it’s that he doesn’t want to. Feitan sees sleep as a waste of time, it bleeds days into days and he could be spending that time well, instead of sleeping.
Everytime he wakes up he mentally kicks himself for having made such a waste of time
That’s where you come in! Hope you’re willing to have a human sized cat latched onto you every single night! Big spoon, little spoon, doesn’t matter to him: you’ll wind up with him clinging onto you for dear life regardless.
Despite this fact however, you’ll never know the plethora of times he wakes up in the middle of the night, painstakingly, detaches himself from you and paces around the room feverishly. Muttering about who knows what, head flicking to every angle at even the minutest of sounds. Feitan doesn’t like not being alert: loathes it, so this is his way to regulate the nerves that rest often brings.
Feitan is a very light sleeper, any slight movement may set him off and cause him to completely switch back on (sleep maintenance insomnia hits him hard).
He doesn’t strike me as a snorer but definitely isn’t quiet, sounds like a Guinea pig sometimes. A total teeth chatterer. Seriously, you’ll wake up and hear a light ‘Tch Tch Tch’ from wherever the hell he’s grabbing onto you tonight.
Will not ever wake up in the same position he falls asleep in (not that you’ll ever know that fact, he’s always looking over you long before you’re awake.)
Trust me: you’ll know if Feitan has a bad dream. His claws (yes claws) will be digging into you, his hold on you tightening with a particularly sharp ‘hiss’ of his teeth.
Likelihood is: his sleeping patterns will leave more marks on you than any other activities ever will. But, don’t worry! It shows he cares (I think?).
Phinks
Kicker, oh he is a real kicker.
You’ll wind up waking up off the bed more times than you will on it.
On and off cuddler, there’s very few times that you’ll fall asleep cuddling but by god is it a wild guess as to whether you’ll wake up doing so.
Phinks will fall asleep with his back towards you, teetering off the edge of the bed. And, In the matter of minutes can have one leg half way across the bed, the other swung over the edge, left hand across his face, right on his chest, mouth slack and whole body at a 45* angle.
Other times, you’ll find a knee digging into your back as he’s (very awkwardly) cuddling you from behind.
Surprising the masses (not): he snores. Has a whole box of nose strips to stop this.
Despite all of these, interesting, idiosyncrasies. The few times you fall asleep cuddling: he’s an entirely different sleeper. It’s like he takes a page out of Chrollo’s book and doesn’t move an inch (aside from rolling, he’s a total roller).
The snoring won’t stop though.
Doesn’t need anything to help him sleep, his head hits the pillow and he’s out like a light. Real heavy sleeper as well, you could roll him off the bed with an almighty thud and he’d still be sound sleep. It’s actually fairly endearing.
Will sleep for 6 hours, wake up for 1, roll around for a bit, settle down and then sleep for another 2.
Best pray you’re a heavy sleeper: that’s all the advice I can give you.
Honestly? It’s like sleeping next to a bear, vaguely adorable as much as it has you fearing for you life (and place on the bed).
Uvogin
If Phinks is like sleeping next to a bear, Uvo is a bear hug.
You’ll find your place settled neatly against his chest, as if he’s one of those comically large backpacks (like Johnny’s from Hotel Transylvania). Don’t worry about anything, truly, you’ll be snug as a bug in a hug.
Surprisingly, not a snorer (when sober at least). Often needs noises to fall asleep to though. If there’s not calamity afoot then Uvo tends to get angsty; you may have to deal with the occasional outburst.
So, you often have loud games or shows blaring in the background as he rests his chin on your head. Uvo doesn’t fall asleep easily, meaning there’s very few times that you can turn the noise off before you head to sleep yourself. You best get used to sleeping to the volume of a rock concert! (with his constant screeching he blew his own ear drums)
Invest in earbuds of some kind, it’ll help the both of you.
The LOUDEST snorer when drunk. I mean LOUDEST. Cotton buds line your bathroom cupboards for whenever he drinks, you’ll have to pick out bits of cotton on particularly bad nights.
Absolute hoarder. Whether it be you, a pillow, the duvet, he’ll have it and he isn’t letting it go. It’s honestly quite comforting, his presence isn’t exactly small, so with this hoarding comes a sense of security.
He’s surprisingly gentle as well, it doesn’t feel infantilising, more like you’re something from a heist that he doesn’t want to break.
Can fall asleep anywhere there’s noise. It’s a skill, you’ll find him contorted in a corner just so long as the TV’s humming in the background. Don’t think of moving him, you won’t.
Probably takes a good few trips to the loo during the night. Which, unfortunately for you, given your nightly position: leads to you being woken up every time he does.
Shalnark
Not a fan of cuddles, like at all. Shalnark is quite the squisher when you’re both up and about or even just lounging on the covers, but when it comes to sleeping? He’ll do it, sure, but he won’t be too thrilled most nights. There’s the odd time that he’ll be uncharacteristically for the idea, pulling you close and running off a mile a minute! He doesn’t tend to actually sleep those nights, more ramble on like you’re at some two person sleepover; the sentiment’s there nonetheless.
Despite this fact, he’s very specific with having at least something pressed up against his back -little spooner- and will get agitated if this requirement isn’t met.
Podcasts, lots of podcasts. Shalnark has about ten to twenty playlists that he’ll be sat scrolling through: trying to find the one he wants to sleep to. You’ll never be privy to these of course, he tends to keep a pair of headphones shoved in some drawer.
Oftentimes, before even attempting to sleep, he’ll be scrolling through some forum or busy doing: something. Though, for some reason you don’t remember any of his chronic scrolling…
Bathroom breaker, it’s nothing annoying but you’ll never not notice the shift in weight, as he swings his legs off the bed and heads to the bathroom. He’s always careful not to make too much noise, which winds up causing more in the process.
Has a small assortment of glasses of water that will accumulate through the week, all filled to different volumes. He swears he’ll drink them! He never does. It just ticks that little box of ‘just incase’ and he can’t sleep without it. Same with most other amenities.
Late sleeper, this man will never be up before you. That may be attributed to the fact he never falls asleep before you, but who’s to say!
Machi
The fact you don’t have single beds is both a gift to thank her for and a curse. Machi is a sleep tosser; she tosses a lot.
You tend to sleep on opposite ends of the bed. This is both in part to her overall distaste of sleeping together and the kicking. Oh boy, the kicking.
You know how the immune system can sometimes misinterpret things as threats, causing autoimmune reactions? That Machi when asleep. It’s like a subconscious instinct, a defence mechanism is you will; it’s certainly a good one! It’s just, not always needed. Especially not when you wake up at 4:34am after a particularly sharp jab at your side.
Though, some nights she’s stiff as a board! Not one movement or peep. As if death herself had stole Machi away.
She’s not a particularly picky sleeper, Machi can rest to almost anything. However, there is one thing that seems to expedite the process. Fire - whether the simple crackling singing off in the distance, or the chocking scent of smoke pervading the air. It seems to calm Machi, there’s no foreseeable reason for it. She just, likes fire.
L i g h t sleeper, you can’t count the amount of times she’s jolted awake, swearing she heard something. Windows, doors and anything else that might throw the room into disarray or stir up noise are a must close.
Sleep mutterer. It’s a rare occurrence, but Machi will sometimes have whole conversations with the air. You’re usually both asleep when these conversations take place (there was once that you overheard one to its completion. You’ll never tell her of course).
Pakunoda
Incense galore.
Seriously it’s everywhere.
Pakunoda needs some form of soft scent to lull her to sleep. This often comes in the form of floral scents, but can branch off into other soothing smells. Her particular favourites include cedar and amber.
You wouldn’t describe what you and Pakunoda do as cuddling, per se. She treats you more like a support pillow than anything else. Arms wrapped around you tightly and chin resting upon your head.
Neither of you will be able to move an inch throughout the night. Pakunoda has a very specific pre sleep schedule that she’ll run through every night (including final bathroom breaks, cleaning and small talk) and after that, it’s lights out. It doesn’t matter if you wake up and need something: she’s out cold. You might be able to escape, if you can pry yourself out. But just know: getting back in the same position will prove twice as difficult.
Not a snorer, hell, you can hardly hear her breathing most nights. If it weren’t for the subtle rise and fall of her chest against your back, you’d question if she even was.
Up long before you are, usually has one half of the bed already made (haphazardly as not to disturb you.)
I had a lot of fun doing this one; might return to it for further Troupe members at a later date, so cheers for the ask Anon! (Little irrelevant thing I just want to mention for future reference: if any PT ask includes Hisoka or Illumi please specify as such.)
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rainsinheaven-if · 2 months ago
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DEMO TBA - Q1 (Jan/Feb) 2025
First update will include: Prologue and Chapter One
Warnings: Blood and injuries, sexism, profanity, temporary character death, child neglect, parental physical and emotional abuse, optional sexual content, and more. Suitable for ages 16+. List will be updated in the future.
This game is in early development and a work in progress. There may be future changes to location names, plot etc.
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You’ve never felt loved by your family before.
Born a twin but feeling more like a shadow, you’ve watched your younger brother, Nolan, receive all the love and praise you were denied. But no matter how unkind you are to him, Nolan’s loyalty and kindness towards you remains unwavering. It’s as if there’s a bond pulling you back everytime you think of leaving it all behind.
Now a mysterious illness has swept through Valorian Kingdom’s royal court, leaving many nobles, including the king at death’s door. The Oracle’s prophecy offers a single hope: the Crown Prince must gather five lost souls to join him in a dangerous journey towards Coven’s Swampy, an ominous and foreboding area hidden deep within the mystical forest.
You are chosen to be one of those five.
As you venture deep into the forest, the journey will push you to the limits of courage and loyalty, forcing you to question everything you believe about family and love. This might not just be a journey to save the day, but a journey towards self-discovery for you and everyone in your group. So when the journey ends, will there be anything left of the person who first stepped into the darkness? 
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Customize your MC! Change your appearance and control your personality. MC starts out as female, but there will be transition options.
Grow a relationship with your twin! Choose to either continue being unkind to your twin brother or getting to know him instead. Your MC's relationship with him may affect some major events.
Develop relationships! There are six romanceable characters - 3 male, 2 gender selectable, and 1 non-binary. Or you can avoid romance and keep it all platonic.
Learn and improve your skills! With the option to choose to either be a mage, knight, or both, you can learn and improve your skills to become better at what you do.
Find yourself! Journey through the mystical forest to not only find a cure, but to self-discovery. There are plenty of secrets to learn about that may or may not change the way you think and feel.
More to be added…
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Below are the six romanceable characters in this story. You can choose to flirt with everyone, but at one point, you'll have to decide on one. Also keep in mind that there are other important characters as well that are not listed here.
Ver/Vera Forrest | Gender Selectable | 21
Playful and energetic with golden-retriever-like energy, V is always ready for adventure. They never fail to be there for you when you need someone to rant to, or a shoulder to lean on. Their cleverness and sneakiness keeps them out of most trouble due to the way they were raised. And it’s exactly how they are raised that has made them hide their burden under their positive enthusiasm.
You are best friends, so why don’t you know any of her secrets? 
Oliver Astoran | he/him | 21
With a cold demeanor, Oliver holds a strong desire to protect the people he cares about, especially those whose kindness is exploited. Your unkind treatment towards your brother causes him to despise you. You are always able to press on the right buttons to rile each other up. He shows a strong sense of determination that marks his mental and physical strength. But perhaps there’s something more to the reason behind his behavior than what the eye sees.
Will you ever be able to see him in a different light, or will it just be fighting, fighting and more fighting?
Ethos Van Winston | he/him | 22
Burdened by the responsibility of being heir to the throne, Ethos is reserved, guarded, and serious. As a child, he was once carefree and one of your closest friends. But after an incident that left unspoken, lingering tension between you two, he now elicits a melancholic presence. His warm side is hidden away somewhere, and you wonder if there was more than just the incident that made him change.
You weren’t the reason he changed… right?
Theodore Eaves | he/him | 24
From a young age, Theodore’s life has been defined by duty and training. He’s mature for his age and has a tendency to act like an older brother to you and the group. He’s well disciplined and stoic, rarely having time to express vulnerability. His focus on duty has left him oblivious to romantic interest, despite his admired reputation due to his looks and status. His obliviousness goes further though, for reasons that he himself hasn’t fully discovered and understood.
Will you ever get to see a vulnerable side of him, instead of just that brotherly figure?
Mattie | they/them | 19
Curious as ever, Mattie often gets themselves into trouble. But with their charming personality and resourcefulness, they’re able to get themselves out of trouble. They are playful, enjoying the work of teasing others and instigating drama to get chaotic, and hopefully flustered, reactions. His skills and knowledge about the forest have proven him to be a good asset, but there is more to him than what meets the eye.
For someone who is so bright and playful, they can’t surely have anything to hide, right?
Yaran/Yara | Gender Selectable | 22
Nobody is sure they know who Y is. They seem ambitious, cunning, and deceiving; doing risky things to achieve their own goals at the cost of someone else’s pain. They are unpredictable, popping in and out of your group - sometimes being a guide, but other times hindering progress. Despite their ambiguity, they are charismatic and mysterious enough to leave your group intrigued. All there is to do now is truly learn who they are and what they have hidden inside.
Who is Y and can you trust them with anything, especially your life?
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Demo | ROs Profiles
music inspiration
This is my first attempt at creating an interactive fiction game and using Twine Sugarcube. Please be patient and kind <3
Shares are appreciated :)
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sleepyconfusedpotato · 11 months ago
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Catch My Breath
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The first kiss.
Set in Christmas Eve 2022, after the events of Call of Duty Modern Warfare II.
Pairing : Simon “Ghost” Riley x Charlotte “Jade” Le Jardin (OC), Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Eleanor "Ladybug" Graham (OC) Characters : Simon "Ghost" Riley, Charlotte "Jade" Le Jardin (OC), Captain John Price, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick Eleanor "Ladybug" Graham (OC), Alejandro Vargas Word Count : ~ 9600 Warning : Fluff with a slight bit of angst, a touch of hurt/comfort, and good ol’ cursings.
Bulky McT 🧼 : ‘Dont forget to come to cpt prices house today.’
You : ‘Of course not. I’m still at the orphanage for christmas gifts exchange. As soon as I'm done I'll be there :)’
Bulky McT 🧼 : ‘Good’
Bulky McT 🧼 : ‘Gaz is making some bangin biscuits and scones’
Jade smiled at her phone as she chatted with Soap. Her mouth already watering from imagining the taste of Gaz’s cooking on her tongue. According to Soap’s and Ladybug’s testimony, his chocolate biscuits were second to none.
You : ‘Wouldn't miss it even if I die.’
Bulky McT 🧼 : ‘Alright. See ya.’
She bit her lip. There's one more question she wanted to ask though. She contemplated asking Soap this or not. 
Her thumbs moved across the screen slowly. 
You : ‘Is Ghost coming?’
When Soap had invited her to the dinner five days prior, all Jade could think about was whether or not Ghost would be joining. Their one week together in Las Almas made her feel… something. Something really, really good. Something she hadn’t felt in what felt like an eternity. He earned a friend in Alejandro, Rudy, Soap, and Ghost, especially, whom she’d thought of as a real piece of work back in Verdansk. Oh, how foolish she was. 
He was the best part about Las Almas. 
Dammit. What was she thinking?!
By the end of Chicago, after they eliminated Hassan, Ghost and Jade had traded phone numbers. Jade had his numbers and named it “💀💢 Beanpole 💀💢”, after the nickname she gave to him before they knew each other’s name. They haven’t texted at all. Ghost wasn’t the kind to text first, that much was clear to everyone who knew him. And neither was Jade. In fact, she didn’t know what to text him first. A “hi”? A… 
What else? 
What do people text each other when they’re trying to get to know each other? She had no goddamn clue. Well, she knew what to text when she wanted to get intel from an unassuming target, but she didn’t want intel from Ghost. 
She just wanted to know if he was okay, if he was fine, if the gash on his shoulder was healing well. Because of course, in her 29 years of life, a serious romance wasn’t a luxury that she could afford in her line of work in MI6. She took that lesson from her parents who literally had to ‘die’ first in order to even start. The point is, none of them texted first. They’re just another series of numbers in their contact list. 
An animation of dots showed up, indicating that Soap was typing. 
He’d typed for a few seconds before the animation stopped for a moment, and then started typing again. He must be changing his response. 
Bulky McT 🧼 : ‘If there's food he should be there.’
Oh? ‘... should be there’. That meant Ghost was not with Soap at the moment, and he didn’t know whether or not Ghost would be coming along. A week in Las Almas was enough for Jade to know that Ghost had grown closer to Soap as a friend-brother figure. The fact that Soap might not know his whereabouts was not a surprise, though. He’s the Ghost after all. 
But she couldn’t help but think, where was he? 
What did Soap type?
“Chacha! Can you help me a bit here? We're about to start the event!” 
Jade looked up from her phone, her ginger hair falling on her shoulders as she tucked her phone back in her pocket, swiftly walking over to one of her co-workers, Esther, an elderly soft-looking lady who volunteered for the orphanage - her former orphanage. This place held a lot of bittersweet memories, and it made her who she was. 
Her legs brought her to one of the high ladders leaning onto one of the walls of the dining hall. She took many mistletoes from the decoration boxes and swiftly climbed the ladder, hanging the vegetation one by one with ease. 
“Do we need this many mistletoes?” Jade asked while her hands worked. “At this point we’re gonna kiss someone by accident.”
“Of course not, what are you talkin’ about?!” Esther’s loud laugh almost broke Jade’s ears. “It’s Christmas, Chacha. The church had an overflow of mistletoes from the donations. If there's a day where we can add as many mistletoes as we can, it’s now. Let's call the kids over.” 
“Alright. Let's start this shall we?” 
The sound of Jade’s boots rang throughout the pavement as she hurried over to Price’s house. She travelled by public transportation from Surrey as she didn't have a car with her (plus she’s not much for driving safely - fake driving licence and… all that). She looked down at her watch to see 7 PM as the cold night finally settled. Each of her breaths turned to clouds in the air, shivering as she didn't have her outer jacket with her right now. She’s never one to be unprepared, but after one of the kids got too excited about getting a Lego toy and spilt a whole glass of apple juice onto her jacket, Jade had to fight through the cold with her trusty turtleneck and only one layer of thin knitted jacket as an outer, clutching the soaked coat close to her chest.
Finally, after what felt like an hour of walking, Jade reached the front of Price's house, immediately knocking on the wooden door three times. She looked up at the massive three-story building made out of bricks, that had a good space in the front yard. The building looked old like a family heirloom, but she could tell that it was pretty much taken care of. There’s a pair of trees that had shed all their leaves for the winter and had a decent amount of vegetation on either side of the doors.  
Jade looked back at the front yard. There were three cars parked in front, and she assumed that one of them belonged to Price, the other two should belong to either Gaz’s, Soap’s, or Ghost’s. 
The wooden door opened. She expected Price as the owner of the house to welcome her, instead, it was Eleanor, Gaz’s very own Ladybug who immediately screeched on top of her head. “JAAAADEEE!!! You’ve finally arrived!” The medic bursted out of the door hugging her figure so tight Jade might’ve folded. A beautiful burgundy sweater around a tan shirt wrapped her figure perfectly, and of course, with her wavy dirty blonde hair tied on the back with the ribbon Gaz gave her, worn out as it could be.
“Hey Lady! I miss you so much!!” The ginger greeted warmly all the while trying her best to stay balanced on her feet or else she’d fall five steps down to the ground on her back. As Lady pulled away, she gave room for Jade to step inside the warm house, taking a glance at Jade’s look. 
“Whoa. You only wear two layers? You’re shivering!” 
“Yeah. Apple juice all over my jacket, but don’t mind it.” She chuckled as she took off her jacket and coat to hang them on a standing coat hanger on the side of the door, “Have the others arrived?”
“You’re the last one. I came early with Kyle to bake the cookies and help Price with the food. Soap came second bringing sacks of snacks and drinks, and Ghost had just arrived before you, about 45 minutes ago.”
That caught Jade’s attention, her heart beat a little faster just at the mention of his name. “Just? Isn’t the Captain’s invitation at 5 PM?” 
 “Yeah. It looked like he was coming back from somewhere though.” 
Somewhere?
Lady’s eyes half blinked, looking at her teasingly. “...Am I sensing something here?”
“What? No. No. It's just that he’s um… usually an on-time kind of man.” Jade tried her best to act indifferent, looking away from her to observe the doorway decorations.
“Oh really? I see, I see.” Ladybug nodded, “Because I might have heard some stuff from Kyle~” 
Jade’s eyes opened wide at the statement, her mind already racing at the thought of what Gaz had said to his girlfriend. “What did he sa–”
 “There’s me trusty Ginger!”
A voice which she could identify from a mile away as Soap’s, called to her. Donning the green military-issued sweater above his uniform, which he rolled to the elbow, he walked in both women’s directions with a chocolate biscuit in hand. 
“Well hello there, Ocean Eyes.” Jade softly hugged Soap’s ever-bulky body while he patted her back several times. “How's your arm? Healing well?” She remembered how Soap got shot by Graves in Las Almas and how both of them, along with Ghost, had to survive the Shadow’s manhunt in the city. Even in Chicago he had to force through it. 
“You’re one to talk. How's your side?” Soap pointed at her left side while munching through his biscuit.
“You got hit?! Where?!” Ladybug, who’d been in Urzikstan to help Farah and Alex for nearly a year after Barkov’s demise, hadn't been updated much about Las Almas. Looked like Gaz left that tiny little detail. 
“She did get hit.” 
“No! No no. I didn't get hit per se. We were… breaking into the Las Almas prison to free Alejandro and the Vaqueros - a little bullet missed my hip, but it did leave a teeny tiny graze.” Jade made a little gesture with her thumb and index fingers.
“It wasn't.” Soap retorted, which made Ladybug look even more concerned. “You almost fell from the prison walls during our escape and LT had to catch you and carry yo–”
“ANYWAY.” Jade tried to dismiss the conversation away from Ladybug’s growing unease. “It was quite literally us four against a thousand. So we had our own hits. It was a month ago, right? I literally walked my way here! See? Now. Where's the man of the house?”
“Thought you want to camp in that doorway.” Price's gravelly voice called from the living room, his head peaking out from one of the walls. “Come in and close that damned door will ya? The forecast said it’s going to rain snow unless you muppets want to shovel the snow.” 
With Jade closing the door, they all walked together towards the interior of the house, where the warmth from the fireplace radiated throughout the room cozily. And holy shit. The word ‘family heirloom’ could perfectly describe the house. Some of the furniture looked like it was carved specifically for the house, soft carpets covered some parts of the wooden floor, and portraits of whom she assumed as the former Prices hung on the walls. The exterior of the house didn’t do the property justice at all. Soap had said that this was the Captain’s own house which he’d left mostly abandoned since he resided in Herefordshire. She wouldn’t lie, if Price turned out to be a secret old money she wouldn’t be surprised. 
Jade’s eyes found Gaz at the kitchen island wearing the same exact outfit as Soap and Price, but with an apron around his waist while he pulled out another batch of chocolate cookies from the oven. Gaz noticed her presence when Ladybug approached him and pointed her way. “Oh, Jade! Come here and eat the salmon. You’re not allergic to fish aren’t you?” This sight of Gaz was pretty surprising for her. He seemed more cheerful and open around Ladybug, contrasting to his serious demeanour in the field. It was refreshing, to say the least.
Jade put down her bag on one of the sofas where Price sat on the edge of it, shuffling a deck of cards in his hands skilfully. “Nope, no allergies. Have all of you eaten yet? Sorry I’m late.” 
“We have, and apparently my Ladybug over here is a vacuum cleaner of food.” Gaz was replied with an elbow to the rib by his partner. 
Taking her own plate of baked salmon, Jade watched from just enough distance as Price, Gaz, Soap, and Ladybug played a game of poker on the desk. The atmosphere was tense from the rivalry but hearty at the same time, their laughs filled the room as Price caught Soap hiding a card on his sleeves, which resulted in a 50 push-up penalty for the Scot. Apart from the chaos, Jade couldn’t help but find herself trying to find that one particular big man. 
The memories of sharing sleepless nights together on the rooftops of Fuerzas Especiales base rushed down her mind. Those moments made up the few moments of peace that they could muster up from the chaos of Las Almas. Just the both of them, the night sky, two cups of tea, and the lights from the city of souls. All those times they spent together completely with his mask on. Only when he decided to take off his mask in front of the 141 and Vaqueros did she ever see his face. 
She’s good with faces. That’s an absolute requirement for her job. That image of his face was ingrained in her brain. How the black paints surrounded his surprisingly soft eyes, how the sun reflected his whiskey brown eyes and light eyelashes, the scars on his cheeks from wearing the mask, and his strong jaw. 
Jade only wished she could enjoy the actual sight of it once more. 
The former MI6 turned her head a number of times, making up blueprints of Price’s residency inside her mind. This house didn’t have a rooftop, and from the looks of it, all the bedrooms are located on the upper floors. Ghost likes looking out at the scenery, so he might’ve gone upstairs, broke into one of the many bedrooms and looked out on of the balconies as he sipped on a cup of tea. Considering how Ghost was, he’d break into his captain’s house without anyone knowing about it just fine. 
All the while the others were playing, Jade finished her plate of grilled salmon and found her way towards the kitchen sink to wash the dishes. She came the latest, the least she could do was helping cleaning the kitchen area. That task came to a halt when her phone vibrated. She was confused at first, but when her eyes read ‘Col. Vargas 🤠’ on the screen, Jade immediately accepted the video call. 
“Hola, Coronel! Como estas?”
“Hola, Compa! Muy bien, muy bien.” Alejandro's gravelly voice greeted her excitedly as his video showed on Jade’s screen. She could tell that the sun was still up in Mexico judging by the light on his face. He looks like he’s standing just outside his family’s house. Quite rare to see the colonel in other attire than his military ones, but as Jade saw his blue shirt tucked inside his blue jeans, she couldn’t help the snicker that came out of her mouth. She remembered that Alejandro had revealed to her privately that he had two beautiful daughters who lived in Mexico City with their maternal grandparents. “I’m in Mexico City with my family to celebrate Christmas. We’re about to head to church for the Christmas Eve sermon.” Alejandro continued in Spanish, but something caught his eye. “Wait, Jade. Where are you? Is that Soap?”
Jade lifted the phone above her head to help him see the place clearly, “Yes, that’s Soap, Captain Price, Gaz, and that’s Eleanor, Gaz’s girlfriend.” She said in his language. Her fingers pointed at each soldier as they slammed their cards on the table, chaos ensuing in the middle of them. “This is Captain Price's house in London. He invited us all for dinner, and now that it’s done, they’re playing poker, aggressively.”
Now it’s Alejandro’s turn to laugh. “I’m assuming they’re on their second bottle of whatever alcohol they’re consuming.”
“Yep. Looks like Captain Price is richer than he lets on. He has 4 bottles of wine from the 1800s! Can you believe it?!” 
Jade and Alejandro continued their video call, sitting in her former position on the sofa. Despite Soap’s slight dislike that they were conversing in Spanish as he couldn’t understand what they were talking about, Jade kept on going. Jade learned that Rudy stayed in Las Almas to rebuild and restore the city after the Shadows wreaked havoc, encouraging Alejandro to leave the city and unite with his family. 
“So. Onto the most important topic…” Alejandro’s voice sounded deeper and his eyebrows lifted. Jade had learned after a thrilling week working together that those were a sign that he was onto something cheeky. “Where’s the Ghost?” 
Again, Jade’s heart beat faster at the mention of his name, and her stomach grew warmer. Damn it. “Um, I don’t know where he is. He is here somewhere in Price’s house, but… I haven’t seen him yet.”
“He’s there? Have you tried the rooftops?”
“This house doesn’t have a rooftop. It does have a lot of rooms with balconies, though. But I didn’t see any open window from the outside.” Her head started to look side to side, “ I don’t know if this house has a back or side entrance, he might be somewh– Alejandro!!” Jade stopped when she realized that Alejandro was laughing his belly off. 
“You’re looking for him too, don’t you?” The colonel guffawed. “Aaah, You should’ve seen your face when you were explaining where he is to me.”
“That’s–” 
“Look. I wished you luck with him back in Las Almas. It’s only natural that I asked for ‘updates’!”
“Keep fighting the good fight, hermano.”  “To the bitter end, my brother.” Soap handshook the Mexican colonel and sergeant as they were about to leave Las Almas. He then turned around and tapped Ghost’s shoulders twice, heading towards the rear end of the aircraft to unite with Price and Gaz. The lieutenant though, stood still on the tarmac a few steps behind Jade.  “Good luck amigos y amiga.” Jade hugged Rudy warmly, tapping her back a few times before holding out her hand to handshake Alejandro. Instead of a handshake, Jade saw a wide grin on Alejandro’s face and opened his arms wide, indicating that he was waiting for a hug as well. “Come here, Hermana!” Jade chuckled, expecting that a handshake wouldn’t be enough for the Mexican. She obliged by stepping forward and warped her arms around Alejandro’s figure.  What Jade didn’t see though, was how Ghost’s body tensed slightly behind her. Alejandro sneakily observed the man’s movement, looking visibly uncomfortable. No matter how skilled Ghost was at appearing as still as he could, Alejandro could see that this skill of his just disappeared when he was in Jade’s presence. Before Alejandro let go, he lowered his voice and spoke to Jade’s ear. “Que te vaya bien con el fantasma.” ‘Good luck with the Ghost.’ Jade blushed profusely when she translated that sentence in her mind, stepping away from the hug to punch his shoulder lightly “ey!!” She looked over to his side, finding that Rodolfo was also grinning ear to ear.  “I mean it, Jade.” Alejandro spoke in Spanish, tilting his head as a sign that he was serious. Jade’s head nodded in surrender a few times. As much as they wanted to converse more, her job wasn’t over yet. Her legs started to walk backwards, “Gracias, Alejandro, Rudy. Cuidate.”   Alejandro observed as she turned around, finding Ghost’s waiting figure right in front of her. She then tapped his chest plate once, jogging her way towards Price, Gaz, and Soap on the aircraft. That sight made the colonel scoff, glancing at Rudy, who looked as amused as he was. Just as Ghost was about to turn around as well to join his teammates, Alejandro called to his name. “Ghost!”  The lieutenant turned around.  “No te pierdas carnal!” “A huevo!”
“The both of you have forced me and Rudy to watch a telenovela the entire time! Please tell me that you’ve at least done something together after Chicago.”
“We traded numbers…” She said nervously.
“And then? Did he text first?”
Jade grimaced, expecting that Alejandro wouldn’t react well to her next response. “We… haven’t texted at all.”
“NO MAMEEESSS!!” Ale facepalmed on the video call like he just watched the Mexican national football team fail to score a goal in a World Cup match. “Ghost… I swear… you need to do better.” 
Jade stood up and walked over to the kitchen aisle yet again and put her phone on a leaning position on the wall, hoping that Alejandro’s shout of despair didn’t reach the other soldiers. “Well– what if he doesn’t want to continue this… whatever’s going on between us?” she grabbed a white mug and a cocoa mix, putting in 3 spoons of the choco powder inside. “You’ve seen how he is. I don’t want to hope too much.” Jade confessed to the colonel, pouring hot water on the mug and stirring the contents with a spoon until the sweet aroma hit her nose.
“Oh you don’t know that yet, right?” Ale replied, “Do you want to have a relationship with him?”
A relationship with Ghost? 
That sounded crazy to say, but if she's being honest with herself, yes. Yes, she did. 
“Yeah…” She started to walk towards the hallway on the side of the kitchen with the warm mug. The walkway looked narrow and led to the rear side of the house. She guessed that if this conversation was prolonged, they were going to need a place where Soap wasn’t shouting his lungs off. Her green eyes looked to the end of the room, where a wooden door similar to the front door was present in front of her. A back door perhaps?
“Okay. Now one of you needs to start. Ghost clearly isn’t starting because he’s a stupid, bad man. But maybe you can convince him that you’re worth his time.”
Worth his time? “How?” 
“Start by finding him.”
The former MI6 walked towards the back door and glanced over the glass parts where the outer side of the house was visible. Just then, she registered a man with a large frame, sitting on the stairs of the back porch. He wore the same attire as the rest of the SAS members - their military uniform covered with a military-issued sweater, and layered further with a familiar black jacket that she’d seen before in Chicago. The man had a mask over his head, but she could see that it was currently lifted up as he took a sip of what she assumed was bourbon. 
That’s definitely Ghost.
“Jade? What happened?” Alejandro asked curiously as she stopped speaking earlier.
“I found him.” She muttered.
Alejandro’s lips curved, slowly forming a smile. 
“The floor is yours, Jade.”
*5 hours earlier*
Johnny : 'LT. You’re coming, right?'
Ghost looked down at his phone, staring at the message that Johnny had sent him, not planning to text anything back. 
He hated Christmas. No, he didn’t hate decors, the bright lights, the red, green, and white that coloured the streets and buildings around him. No, he’s not petty like that. He’s indifferent to it. 
What he hated was how the month of December always reminded him of the darkest part of his life. 
He lowered his phone and tucked it inside his pocket, going back to the sight of his family’s gravestones right in front of him. His mother, brother, sister-in-law, and nephew. 
Ghost remembered the blood; the foul stench hitting his nose as he stood frozen, witnessing the lifeless bodies of his family – all surrounded by the colourful lights of red, green, and blue from the Christmas tree that they were decorating. If only he realized sooner that his enemies wouldn’t settle with torturing him. If only he wasn’t so naive and thought that his battles were done as soon as he was home. How wrong he was. 
How fucking wrong he was. 
Ghost’s tears had dried out a long time ago. Every Christmas Eve he always visited their graves. He’d cry for the first three years, but now he’d settle with staring at the stones, not a word coming out of his mouth. Just him, alone with that memory.
His phone vibrated again. Johnny’s still messaging him about the dinner at Price’s house. Ghost closed his eyes in annoyance and sighed, taking his phone and turning it on to find a few messages.
Johnny : ‘Captain said not to disturb you during Christmas week’
Johnny : ‘Idk what you’re doing now’
Johnny : ‘but I hope you’re enjoying yourself’
Ghost moved his thumb on the keyboard screen, wanting to text Johnny that he was not coming and to stop messaging him. 
Johnny : ‘Also’
Johnny : ‘Jade’s coming’
His thumb paused right above the send key. 
Fuck. 
Why did his heart beat faster suddenly? What was this warmth in his stomach? His memories of his family’s death disappeared, and suddenly all the moments with Jade came down rushing through his mind. 
The moment when they met – where they shot at each other in Verdansk, leaving a permanent mark on his left ear – The sleepless nights in Las Almas, the meaningless conversations, their moments in battle together. How beautiful she was when she kept her calm during pressing and stressful situations, the grace in her movements…
Fuck. 
Fucking hell.
Ghost had read Price’s invitation two weeks before in their group chat. He already made up his mind from the beginning that he wasn’t coming. He never really enjoyed parties or any form of gathering at all. That’s how he’d been living for three decades of his life. Why did that one mention of her name from Johnny instantly change his resolve just like that? 
He didn’t reply to Johnny at all, only leaving the two blue check marks indicating that he’d read Johnny’s messages. 
And that… was how Ghost ended up sitting on Price’s back porch. The crescent moon was high in the sky. Little bits of snow started to fall down alongside the windy weather. For the first time of the day, he had his skull-painted balaclava up to his nose in order to take a sip from his glass of bourbon. 
When he had arrived at Price’s front yard with his sedan, Ghost saw the amused surprise in Price, Gaz, and Lady’s faces, but he also took a glimpse of Johnny’s smirk on his lips. The sergeant now knew the way to his heart, and it infuriated him. God damn him.
The sun was already long gone by that time, and he could see that the others were already in the midst of eating their dinner. 
He’d sneakily taken a glance around Price’s luxurious house.
No Jade yet. 
Ghost had conversed for a while with Price, took his own plate of baked salmon, poured himself a glass of bourbon, and excused himself to the back door. For an hour and a half, he sat right there, slowly sipping on his alcohol. Just as he thought that she wasn’t coming and that Johnny had lied to him, the wooden door behind his back opened.
He turned around and found the woman herself.
Jade. 
Her ginger hair was braided like usual, but stopped on the back of her head, letting the long hair run freely down her back and shoulders. The deep red turtleneck which usually looked out of place in warm weather such as Las Almas currently fitted perfectly on her figure. A green pair of wide pants hung from her hip, letting the fabric run freely downwards instead of wrapping around her legs like the jeans he’s used to seeing her wearing during their mission together.
Ghost caught her green eyes, reflected by the moonlight, and he could easily tell that she wore some sort of makeup. What the name was he couldn’t bother to remember, but she looked… beautiful.
His heart was already beating pretty fast from the alcohol, but now it’s going even faster, and don’t even start about the butterflies that were flying rampant inside his stomach right now. 
She only stared at him, her breaths turning to cloud along with the vapour from the cocoa mug she was holding. For a few seconds, they stayed like that, until Jade finally started.
“Why aren't you inside? It's cold.”
Can you miss someone’s voice? Apparently you can, judging by the unexplainable sense of relief that washed over him after he heard her voice. The last time he heard her voice was back in Chicago, a month ago. He then turned around again, facing Price's plain backyard to try hiding any signs from his exposed mouth that she might read. The former MI6 had this scary skill to read every body language of any person. Sure, he had a mask up to his nose, but he wouldn’t take any chances.
“I don't like parties.” He replied.
“It's cold.” 
“Better than whatever's going inside. And I have my friend right here to keep me warm.” He slightly lifted the bourbon glass, shaking it slightly to make the content swirl.
Jade hummed. She observed his glass and noticed the alcohol. For all their nights in Las Almas, Ghost always drank tea, never alcohol. Of course, they were in active duty, so drinking liquor could cost them so much, but he'd said himself that he pretty rarely drinks, since Ghost had confessed that he liked being in control of what he did. She wondered why he was drinking, but she let it go. Instead, Jade stepped two stairs down, and sat beside Ghost’s left, drinking her own cup of hot chocolate.
“Why are you here?” Now it's Ghost’s turn to start. 
She wondered how to answer that. If she's being honest, the answer would be ‘to be with you’, but she deleted that response in her mind.
“I… don't really like parties.”
“…You don't look the type.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What’s ‘my’ type?”
Ghost took another sip from the glass, “Likes being around people. Gets your energy from a communal space.”
The former MI6 scoffed. “Fooled you right there. Maybe it’s just me, but being around people automatically sets me in observation mode. Don’t get me wrong, I like people. It’s just tiring.”
“Hm.”
Another few seconds of silence, before she continued. “What about you? Why are you here?”
“Gets noisy inside, especially if Johnny's starting to lose his grip on reality.” Ghost immediately answered, almost like he expected Jade to ask him that. “He’s a screamer.”
“Hey how's your graze wound? It's healing well right?
Jade suddenly asked, which surprised Ghost. He glanced at Jade, finding the woman herself looking straight into his brown eyes. He should admit, her face so close to his caught him off-guard, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding, creating a cloud in the air. Ghost then took a sip from his glass again before answering. “Yeah. I changed the dressing every once in a while. It's just a scab now. “ To be honest, he kind of forgot about the wound on his right shoulder. It was disgustingly painful during their time in Las Almas and Chicago considering how he must carry the chestplate and his gears on that shoulder. The memory of Jade tending to that wound of his at the safehouse came rushing down his brain.
“Okay, that's a relief then. Just make sure you don't scratch it or it'll open again.”
“I know the drill, Midget, I’m not a kid. This isn't my first rodeo. What about you?”
“Wh-what about me?”
“Your hip.”
The former MI6 sucked both of her lips between her teeth. “It’s fine.”
“Fine how?”
Jade now looked at Ghost’s brown eyes, intensely gazing at her own. He wasn’t taking ‘It’s fine’ as an answer. He was always an intense person. She suddenly remembered the feeling of being safe in his hands when he carried her towards the van, arms under her shoulder and knees when she couldn’t bear the pain in her hip any longer. 
How Ghost had slept the whole night, in a sitting position on a chair beside her bed in the safehouse with his mask on, staying right by her side.
“Oi. Midget. I’m asking you.”
That snapped her out of her thoughts. “Huh? Yeah! It’s a bit itchy at times, but I can manage. It’s healing well.”
That answer seemed to finally satisfy him. “Hm.”
Jade went back to her hot chocolate, but Ghost didn’t leave her. He could see her shivering a little bit in the cold. The tip of her nose and ears had turned rosy.
“You cold?”
“Hm? No! No, not at all. Why?"
“You're shivering. And where's your jacket? A single layer of sweater won't help with this fucking weather.”
“Well– About that. I was at the orphanage for Christmas gift trading earlier before coming here. One of the kids got… too excited and spilt apple juice all over my jacket, so I had to take it off.” She admitted. 
“What, you're gonna freeze yourself to death here? It's 1 degree out.”
“I don't want to be insiiiide.” Jade whined, almost childish. A sight Ghost would never admit he found cute.
“Your survival instincts are out of the damn window. I thought you were a seasoned MI6 black agent.” Somehow he found more ways to ridicule her.
The ginger scowled, pouting her lips before standing up “…Whatever, I'm going inside”
“Fuckin’ hell– stay. Stay here. Sit back down.” Ghost’s swift hand grabbed her forearm a bit too harshly, prompting her to balance her hand as a drop of her hot chocolate spilt out to the white snow below. 
“Why? You want me to freeze to death?” Regardless, she sat back down, closer to his body now.
“You're the only company I've got that isn't annoying. So stay here.” Ghost unexpectedly moved his arms to take off his black jacket, revealing his green sweater underneath, and much to Jade’s surprise, his arms loomed over her and rested the dark clothing around her shoulders. Her bewilderment failed to hide itself when his hand patted her shoulder a couple of times to set it in place. “There. Better?”
Wow. It’s… warm. And most importantly, It’s his warmth. 
One of her hands left the warm mug, softly tracing her fingers along the hem of the jacket to tuck it closer to her chest. “...Better.”
Shit. Ghost didn’t know the sight of Jade beneath his jacket would create more butterflies to fly like bees inside his stomach. In an attempt to suppress it, he sighed, leaning back and closed his eyes to take a deep breath. 
…before he opened his eyes, finding a mistletoe hanging right above them, placed neatly. And purposefully. It’s like a damned grenade trap. “…Fuckin’ hell…”
“STOP SWEARING!!” Jade exclaimed, annoyed at his shortage of vocabulary. “You've said those words twice in the same mi– What are you looking at…?” Jade looked at Ghost, who was leaning back while his head hung backwards on his neck. 
She looked up as well, finding the mistletoe that made him swear. “…oh, blimey.” There was not a single Christmas decoration on the back side of the house but this one. Price was a person who had a high attention to detail, but Christmas decoration was not one of them. Heck, he barely decorated the house at all. That thing was hung far too strategically.
Both Ghost and Jade were thinking of the same thing.
Soap. 
Ghost sighed, “Just ignore it.” 
“But it's bad luck though.” Jade thoughtlessly said.
“You don't really believe that, do you.”
“Well I don't! It's hanging vegetation. Still, I'm saying it could be true.” Her hands gestured at the mistletoe above her.
“What, you want a kiss?”
The woman gasped, almost offendedly. “HUH? KISS YOU??”
“Who else is underneath this fucking mistletoe?” 
She joked, trying desperately to hide her panic at the thought of kissing him. “A ghost.”
“Fucking funny. Also what's with you? It's just one kiss.”
Jade stopped speaking. Her eyes widened as she pursed her lips. “Um…. I just don't…”
Confusion fell down Ghost’s half-masked expression, quickly reading her reaction, until he got to the conclusion. “...Don't fucking tell me you haven't had your first kiss yet.” 
When he saw how Jade couldn’t respond anymore, Ghost pinched his forehead.“Bloody hell... Then why did you say you want it?!”
“I NEVER SAID I WANT IT??? I just said that the bad luck thingy could be true!”
“Well fuck us for five hundred years then!” 
“DAMMIT– OKAY!! KISS ME!”
Those words perplexed him, not realizing that he was practically glaring at her that his eyes might come out of its socket. The ever-present black paint around his eyes didn’t help to ease the tension either. Jade herself didn’t know which thunder slapped her that she said those words. She wasn’t the kind of person to just spout things without thinking of the consequences first. 
Ghost observed Jade’s face, trying to read her expression, to see whether or not she was joking or serious. Because in the deepest part of his heart, he’d hoped that she was joking. But even deeper, he hoped that she wasn’t. “…you don't mean that.”
Jade wondered if her mouth had disconnected from her brain. What she was saying came out literally the opposite of what her instincts were. “You heard me. You can kiss me. Just a peck though.” What was she thinking? This was NOT what she wanted to say. Or was it? “How many women have you kissed?” Aaand now she’s prying onto his past? Great job, Jade. 
He used to be young, that’s for sure. Despite his father and brother mocking him and his mother for it, he used to go to school and met a few women during his learning days. Only two of them, though, and that was all before he got into military. He didn’t know what commitment was back in the day, and his ‘girlfriends’ didn’t know that either. “...a few.” 
“Were they experienced?”
“Probably so.” 
Okay, so he had some experience. That somehow made her feel easy. “Well… I have zero experience on the act. So… be gentle, okay?”
“…Fine.“ Ghost breathed as he put down his almost-empty glass on the stone staircase behind him, finding Jade doing the same. 
The coldness of the wind prickled her skin, making her realize that this was not a dream. He’s about to kiss her, and it’s from a mistletoe. Out of nowhere, she remembered the overflow of mistletoe that the orphanage received earlier. Could that be a sign? Either way, she snapped back to her current state, where Ghost was visibly looking at her lips, and that sight made her heart drum twice the speed. At this point, she might explode. “Okay. So… what do I do? Do I tilt my head a little, or do I open my lips just a little bit? Should I lean in to kiss you too?  Or like–”
“Just. Stay. Still.” Ghost shut her up before she could blabber more.
“Okay okay okay”. 
Jade watched Ghost secure his mask up to his nose, revealing his mouth. When she glanced at his lips, Jade could see a tinge of red on his cheek, but she could dismiss that as a reaction to the cold or from the alcohol he was drinking. When he leaned in slowly, Jade could see him so close, the closest he's ever been to her. His eyelashes were longer than she's ever realised, fluttering against his skin, the little healed scars on his face–
Jade sucked her lips into her teeth, "WAIT WAIT WAIT." Making the man flinch and pull away in confusion.
 "What?! Do you wanna do this or not?!" Ghost exclaimed.
"I do, I do! It's my first time! Just–”
“I said all you need to do is stay. Still.”
“I've never done this before, literally! I'm 29 and I've never kissed someone!”
Ghost fell silent as Jade hid her face on her palm.
“…I have never fallen for anyone before.” She confessed. “I wanted my first kiss to be with the one and only, and now… “ Her hands wildly gestured to the mistletoe above them, “someone happened to put a mistletoe right above us.”
Jade was a lot of things. A formidable fighter, a dependable ally, a brave operator who’d jump from a cliff with you, a spawn of the devil herself when she does her thing. However, at that moment, Ghost didn’t see any of those at all. All she saw was a vulnerable woman, curled up in a ball because she couldn’t fathom the concept of a single kiss.  
After a few moments of him letting her collect her thoughts, Ghost muttered, “…Jade, if you're not ready, then we can just pretend that it doesn't exist. You don't have to.”
“You know what?” She tapped both of her knees with a considerable force, like she just made up her mind about something. “I gotta start somewhere right? Besides, when I finally kiss my man, I need to work on my kissing game.”
Ghost couldn’t help the scoff out his mouth. And… ‘her man’, huh? That could be a dream. “'Kissing game'?”
“Yes! Gotta…know what it feels like, at least?”
Ghost observed her expressions yet again. The woman in front of her was looking at him like she’s about to surrender her life to his hands. What, was he about to shoot an apple above her head? To him this was just a kiss after all.
Or was it?
Jade wasn’t his girlfriends during his younger days. She’s an extraordinary woman like no other. 
“…Okay. Look. We're gonna do this slowly. I will do all the work while you can just stay there. Does that work with you?” Ghost started, looking at Jade in the eyes.
She put on the bravest face she could muster up and proceeded with a nod.
“Say it.” The deep timbre of his voice sent shivers down her spine, because of course, it wasn’t enough for him. 
“Okay, Ghost.”
“Good. Close your eyes, Jade. Just calm down. Trust me.
As she closed her eyes, she breathed the cold winter air deeply before letting them out. Now that her vision was no more, her other senses had heightened. The sharp cold air stabbing her skin, the smell of hot cocoa on her hands, the faint scent of something that could only come from Ghost's jacket wrapped around her shoulders. 
For a good amount of time, she didn't feel anything other than her surroundings. Jade was expecting something on her lips. Anything from the man that was sitting right in front of her, but none came. She was about to open her eyes and call his name, until something touched her chin, lightly lifting her head to face upwards. And just then, Jade finally felt a soft, tender kiss on her forehead. His lips stayed there only for a second before they parted with her skin, yet it felt like she longed for it for more than eternity. No one has ever laid their lips on her skin before. No one. 
What she was expecting was something on her lips, not her forehead, so when Jade was about to open her eyelids, again, he stopped her by putting his fingers on her left cheek, tenderly sliding them from her rosy cheek to the back of her ear, taking the stray strands of her red hair with them. The hands that killed, that murdered many so more could live, were gingerly touching her face with an unexpected amount of softness. She didn’t know his hands were capable of doing such delicate movements, and neither did he. 
Before she could register what was happening, she felt him getting close again, and for the second time, her expectation betrayed her when Ghost kissed her cheek, just right under her eye. The kiss lasted longer than the one on her forehead, yet Jade couldn’t find any reason to complain. If anything, she wanted his lips to stay on her cheek longer than that. To feel him closer, to feel him more. 
Ghost’s fingers moved on backwards from behind her ear, going through the wilds of her undone hair and finding its place on the back of her head. Heart racing, Jade was expecting another kiss that was not in the designated place. However, when his deep, raspy voice softly said to her, “I’m going to kiss you now.”, she found herself giddy with her eyes closed. Part of her wanted to open her eyes and see what was going on right in front of her, but the other part stood strong against it, not wanting to ruin the moment. 
So when she felt him closing in, Jade gave all control over to him. She relaxed herself, letting Ghost gently pull her head closer to his, to at last, close the distance between their lips.
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 It was the softest, slowest kiss possible, filled with unsureness on her part, yet with a sense of certainty and confidence from him, and because of that, Jade let him do his part, leading the kiss to the point that it was enjoyable and… lovely. 
The kiss lasted for only a mere 5 seconds at most, but it felt like hours. Ghost reluctantly pulled back and saw that Jade had already opened her green eyes. Her face was painted with shyness and shock, a pleasant one, as she saw that Ghost had removed his mask entirely, his face right in front of hers, his brown hair still a bit dishevelled from removing his balaclava.
Jade was a heavily trained warrior and an exceptionally skilled individual who stayed calm in times of distress and emergency on the battlefield, a force to be reckoned with, and could be an absolute menace when she wanted to be. Now, seeing the same woman like this – dazed, wide-eyed, a blushing mess, and taken aback by a simple kiss – The sight made him smile softly. 
If only she'd known how long he'd wanted to do that to her.
Palm still resting on the side of her neck, he asked her, “How was that for a first time?”
Jade looked like a robot losing its ability to function. There were no words in her brain to respond to his question. Scratch that. It looked like she didn’t even register what his question was. 
Seeing her so flabbergasted made him let out a deep chuckle. “Midget. I’m talking to you.”
That bastardized nickname snapped her out of her thoughts, making her blink rapidly, seemingly trying to sort her jumbled brain. Jade looked at the man who just claimed her first kiss right in his dark, brown eyes. 
He’s still right in front of her, face looking at her delightfully with a sweet smile, not like the usual dark, ready-to-kill gaze. It’s almost like looking at a different person entirely. 
“Uh… Umm–” Jade couldn’t form words.
Another chuckle, “You okay?”
"...this is a weird request, but" A pause, "Can you… do that again?"
Never in a thousand lifetimes, he would ever expect that answer from her. "...You want me to kiss you again?"
"Yeah. Can you do that?" She spoke with a low voice. "Please?"
His eyes opened wide at her request. Confused, but amazed at the same time. Did that request mean she liked it? Her expressions said that she did, though. Or did she just want to make sure? Nevertheless, Ghost decided to oblige and leaned in again to kiss her. 
Jade closed her eyes again and felt his lips against hers for the second time that night. His kiss was as soft and as tender as the first time. This one, though, she decided to take in the feeling of his rough lips, the way he tilted his head to fit hers, the way his large hand lightly pulled her in and softly kissed her. All the sensations she felt from his actions became ecstasy.
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Her hands lifted their way up to find Ghost's cheeks. Jade could swear she heard a small gasp from the man. Fingers gliding along the side of his face, she could feel his stubbles grazing her skin. It was such a surreal sensation, to think that this is the face of the man who got branded as a ghost, a myth, who wears the mask to hide who he is. Right now, she's having her palm on the skin of his face, and he allowed her to. 
No one had touched the skin on his face in years. No one ever managed to get their hands on his face save for enemies who sought to kill him and punched his mask before meeting their demise with his knife. The only form of touch he remembered was of his father, who was all but loving.
With the tip of her thumb, Jade traced the scars on his face. Her warm hands instantly built a gentle fire on his skin. The feeling of such a tender touch was almost like meeting a stranger to him. But if it's a stranger, why did he find himself missing it so much? Why did he yearn for it so? Her touch ignited a warmth that he never knew he needed. 
At that time, the woman he was kissing felt more like home than anything and anyone ever did. He felt like he could just melt right there and then. Here Ghost thought that he was the one kissing her, but now it was like she was the one casting some sort of magic spell on him. 
Soon, their hands moved, Jade’s hands left his cheeks and found his wrist who was holding the back of her head. He almost forgot the feeling of someone’s hand on his own, but before he knew it, he felt her other hand grasping his sweater, right above his heart, crumpling the cloth. As they went on, he couldn’t just stay still anymore. Ghost’s other hand also found its way to her back, lightly pressing on her. He wanted her closer, he needed her close.
Ghost snapped himself out of his thoughts and pulled back, catching Jade off guard. 
The both of them looked into each other's eyes as they caught their breaths, not noticing that they'd been kissing for the last minute. Faces extremely red from racing hearts and rushing blood, clouds of cold air escaping their mouth from the cold, for a moment they thought they knew this was just because of a single mistletoe, yet deep down, they knew this was something more. 
Not hearing anything from one another, Ghost took his hand back from her neck and waist as Jade parted her hands from him to her lips with her hands. 
The man spoke first, "You need more?"
"Yes– I mean– No! That was enough." Words stumbled their way out of her mouth. "Uh… So… that happened. I just had my first kiss."
Ghost couldn't help the smile, "I just stole your first kiss."
"No. You didn't steal it." She denied, "If anything, I'm glad you are my first kiss."
Hearing those words, Ghost could feel his heart racing again, the world suddenly felt warmer. 
"I'm sorry you have to kiss me, though. You've always hated me." Jade continued with a laugh.
"Who says I hate you?" 
That made her look at him, and what she saw was the most gentle face she'd ever seen him. Again, she didn't know he was capable of that expression. "If I hated you, I wouldn't ask you to stay, wouldn't I?" 
That's a true statement. "You're right. So we're past the "stay away from me" phase now?" 
"Our first meeting was in Verdansk. Situation was out of control and we were off to a bad start." He explained, "And we just kissed. We're way past that now."
Smiling, Jade pursed her lips before saying, "So… are we still friends?" 
"Friends?" He glanced at her.
"Yep."
"Friends then." Confirmed Ghost. 
"Who just kissed each other."
"Because someone hung a fucking mistletoe on the back porch." He retorted while gesturing to the decoration above them. 
The woman laughed out loud before looking at the man, who was also having a chuckle of his own. 
That's the first time she heard him – saw him – this happy. Had he always been this… handsome? She'd only looked at his face once before, which was when he revealed himself to the team in the Los Vaqueros safehouse in Las Almas, and then, never again.
But if this was what Jade could see beneath the mask – his happy face, the crows feet on the corners of his eyes, the corners of his lips turning upwards, and the fact that she just learned that he had shallow dimples when smiling – then she wished the mask could just disappear. Forever.
Because after this… he would  put on that mask again. 
This might be the last time she saw him without the mask.
When would she see him without it again?
Out of nowhere, some unexplainable force of will inside her made Jade lean in and left a peck on Ghost's cheek. 
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The SAS lieutenant instantly looked at the woman, flabbergasted. 
Jade herself gasped loudly, covering her face in disbelief of her own action. She couldn't see it, but in his eyes, her face was as red as her hair.
Why did she do that? What made her do that?!
They swore it was the most deafening silence in their lives. Both of them stayed like that for a good 10 seconds, seemingly trying to make sense of what the fuck just happened.
"Oh my God… OH MY GOD. I’M SORRY. I’M SORRY!” Jade uttered in absolute panic.
Ghost stayed still in silence, his eyes wide open glaring at hers. 
Oh shit. Shit shit shit. He’s mad. HE’S MAD. 
“It– It's freezing! I'm going inside!" Jade scrambled to stand up, taking the cocoa mug with her and went to the doorway, before remembering that she still had Ghost's jacket on her shoulder. 
"Ja- Lottie! Wait–" He was about to stand up to follow her, but his words got cut by his jacket flying straight to his face. When he removed the clothing, she'd already disappeared into the merry party inside. 
Touching the part where Jade kissed him, Ghost slowly stared back at the falling snow in front of the porch. He hadn't worn his jacket yet, and somehow he didn't feel cold at all.
It's so hot. 
It's too hot. 
He buried his face in his palms, before running them through his brown hair. She didn't have to do that, didn't she? There was a mistletoe, they kissed because of it, and that was it, right? 
Then what was that peck for? There wasn't any obligation involved that required her to kiss him again. 
Ghost could feel his heart pumping blood faster than it ever did, faster than when he was on the battlefield, faster than when he ran laps every day. Butterflies were rushing deep inside his stomach, flying all around his insides like it just wanted to break out of his body.
He didn't know why, but if the kiss and her touch were a gentle fire that built slowly, that little peck felt like he just got struck by a damn thunder. 
Violently.
And yet, he was so happy about that little peck - weirdly more so than the kiss - Too fucking happy. 
Ghost grasped the sweater right above his heart before muttering to himself, 
"Fuckin’ hell…" 
Jade didn't melt his cold heart. 
She set it on fire. 
Price couldn’t believe the situation he was in.
His sergeants, Kyle and Soap, along with Ladybug, leaning on the back door of his house, looking at Ghost and Jade kissing at his back porch. Fucking spectacular.
“See, Gaz?! I told you–”
“SHUT UP Mate they’re gonna hear your loud arse.” Gaz nudged the drunken Scot’s rib to silence him. 
Nevertheless, the plan worked. Gaz and Ladybug was the provider of the decorations since Price didn’t have any Christmas Decorations in this house in London. When Soap arrived with a mischievous look on his face and told the couple about “Operation Red Skull”, they were automatically IN on it. 
And who would’ve fucking guessed? They made his house a home ground for matchmaking, and they succeeded. They weren’t his best subordinates for nothing after all.
Suddenly, Price heard a loud gasp from the three in front of him. His captain persona suddenly kicked in and stepped forward, shoving both of his sergeants to see the situation clearly.
There they saw Jade and Ghost, looking at each other, with Jade’s face looking like she was absolutely shocked. 
“Oh my God… did she just sneak another kiss to him?!” Ladybug exclaimed with a whispering voice.
“FUCK! I didn’t have a clear visual.” Gaz followed.
“I think it was just a peck to his cheek??” Soap added.
“Everyone fall back!” Price commanded, and just like muscle memory, they all scrambled back to the living room, taking their respective deck of poker cards and sat around the messy table to pretend like they were still playing.
Soon after, Jade herself opened the back door with a face that none of them had ever seen before – a combination of shock and embarrassment.
“Jade? You okay?” Lady twisted her body to see Jade.
The former MI6 nodded uncontrollably like a shaking head doll. “Huh? Yeah. Yeah yeah, I’m okay.”
Gaz and Soap were covering their mouths with their deck of cards, unable to hide their smiles. It looked like they were about to break into a massive laughter any second now.
What broke it was Captain Price, who suddenly asked Jade,
“Really? What’s that black spot on your nose, then?”
---
YEEEHHEHEEHEHHHEHE. Sorry for the long wait! Thank you for reading! Hope y'all enjoyed it! (❁´◡`❁)
Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated <3
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literaryvein-reblogs · 5 months ago
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Writing Notes: Character Development
Rick Riordan's Writing Tips
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Rick Riordan:
Character development is paramount for me. I firmly believe that plot and character development must occur simultaneously. Plot cannot be left to chance. Neither can characters be automatons who carry out actions envisioned in the author's master plan. Below are some things I try to keep in mind when developing my characters:
RICK RIORDAN'S TOP 5 TIPS ON CHARACTER
Define a character first through action, second through dialog and description, never through explanation.
A character should be primarily defined by the choices he makes, and the actions he takes.
How does he respond to violence?
How does he respond to love?
Secondly, a character must be vividly but deftly describe through his speech, and through the initial view you give the reader.
Never stop to explain who a character is when we can watch him in action and decide for ourselves.
Be impressionist rather than realistic.
Describe characters as Dickens did – with a single deft stroke.
A laundry list of physical traits is realistic, but it is neither memorable nor compelling.
A jarring metaphor for the character, or a focus on one mannerism or physical trait, can be very compelling.
Example: She was a human tornado.
Do not be afraid to use real people as models, but do not be constricted by your models.
It is very natural to use parts of ourselves or the people we know when creating characters.
Do not be afraid to do this because someone might get mad at you.
At the same time, let your character develop.
Do not force them to do what the real-life model would do.
Characters seldom end up exactly like the real people they are based on.
The reader does not have to be told everything you know about the character.
It may be critically important to you that your character has blue eyes, or went to Texas A&M.
But if these details have no part in the story, the reader will not care.
Leave them in your subconscious.
If you are having trouble figuring out a character, fill out a character profile, or do some journaling in that character's voice.
Your character must act, not simply be acted upon.
We care about characters because we are interested in the choices they make.
We want to boo the villain, cheer the hero, and cry with frustration when the tragic figure makes the wrong move.
A character who does not act, but simply receives information and is acted upon by outside forces, is not a character who will compel the reader.
Remember, plot is what the characters do next.
If the characters do not create the plot, the plot is hollow.
Here's a character profile worksheet I sometimes fill out if I'm having trouble understanding a particular character I've created:
Character Profile
Name:
Height:
Age in story:
Birthplace:
Hair color, length, style:
Race/nationality:
Regional influences:
Accent: (include voice, style of speech, slang, signature phrases or words)
Religion:
Marital status:
Scars or other notable physical attributes:
Handicaps: (emotional, physical, mental)
Athletic? Inactive? Overall health?
Style of dress:
Favorite colors:
How does the character feel about his/her appearance?
Brothers/sisters:
Relationship with parents:
Memories about childhood:
Educational background: (street smart? Formal? Does he/she read?)
Work experience:
Occupation:
Where does the character live now? Describe home (emotional atmosphere as well as physical)
Neat or messy?
Sexual preferences/morals/activities:
Women friends/men friends:
Pets?
Enemies? Why?
Basic nature:
Personality traits (shy, outgoing, domineering, doormat, honest, kind, sense of humor):
Strongest trait:
Weakest trait:
What does the character fear?
What is the character proud of?
What is the character ashamed of?
Outlook on life (optimistic, pessimistic, cynic, idealist)
Ambitions:
Politics:
How does the character see himself/herself?
How is the character seen by others?
Do you like this person? Why or why not?
Will readers like or dislike?
Most important thing to know about this character:
Present problem:
How it will get worse:
What is the character's goal in the story?
What traits will help/hurt the character in achieving this goal?
What makes the character different from similar characters?
Why will readers remember this character vividly?
Source ⚜ Writing Notes & References
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box-of-roses · 7 months ago
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‧͙⁺˚*・༓☾Dolled Up‧͙⁺˚*・༓☾
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Characters: Suga, Kageyama, Akaashi, Semi, Atsumu (you can find Oikawa in the captains vers of this -> here)
Warnings: None that I can think of
Synopsis: How the Haikyuu setters react to you getting dressed up for their game
a/n: thank you so much for requesting this <333 I love these hcs lol enjoy the setter vers :) (the request)
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Suga
I think he’s also a blushy boy
Gets so excited when he gets subbed in bcs I think he would feel sad if he didn’t get to play while you’re all dressed up
The moment Suga sees you he can feel his face heating up. He’s almost glad he isn’t playing right now, he’s not sure he would be able to play properly with you looking so cute. He was wondering where his extra jersey went and he finally found his answer, you’re wearing it. He kind of freezes in place and misses what’s going on in the game because you’re smiling so brightly and look so cute while you’re cheering. 
After the game he runs up to the barrier between the stands and you come down to greet him. “My love, you played so well,” you say leaning over the railing to speak to him easier. 
“Don’t lean over the railing where you could fall.”
“You would catch me.”
“Maybe, might let you fall and learn your lesson.” You roll your eyes and go over to the stairs. He sees his number on your cheek and your pom poms much clearer when you’re in front of him.
Definitely feels like he plays better when you’re there
He’s coming over to the stands at the end of the game and looking up at you asking you to come down
Literally looks at you in awe 
Kags
Is able to concentrate on the game unlike some of the others on this list lol
Yells at you flustered because he was very close to not being able to play correctly anymore
He sees you at what he would call the worst time. But it could’ve been much worse. He had just set the ball and he’s landing back down when he sees you with your sign and how loud you’re cheering. He knows it’s over for him when the others see you (how could they not you were cheering pretty loud).
“Did the King finally con someone into being his queen?” Tsukki teases during the small pause. His face grows warm and he sends a glare to Tsukki.
“I didn’t con them.” he grumbles under his breath. He looks up at you again and sees you grinning at him and looking at him like he hung the stars in the sky. He gives you a small smile back.
Do it again (he loves is but will act like he doesn’t)
Deals with the teasing from everyone else bcs they most definitely tease him
Atsumu
I would like to think Osamu actually sees you first and bursts out laughing (not bcs you don’t look good pookie but bcs of how Atsumu is going to react)
Quickly tells Suna to start recording because this is about to be comedy gold
Sees you when he’s serving (oops)
He throws the ball up and then it hits him on the head bcs he malfunctions when he sees you
Osamu lets out a small laugh and covers his mouth, the team is warming up currently, when he sees you. He elbows Suna and points in the stands to see you waving down at them and then point to your boyfriend. “Sunarin, start recording this is gonna be hilarious.” He whispers to the other as Suna nods and pulls out his phone with a smile. “Hey scrub!” Osamu calls out to his brother.
“What do you want? I’m in the middle of doing something!”
“Nothing, you’ll see later then.” He did try to warn him. He didn’t say he would try very hard so he just looks back at you with a shrug. The minute Atsumu goes to serve Suna zooms in while recording. When Atsumu throws the ball up he makes the mistake of finding you in the audience. Needless to say everyone was laughing as they watched his face turn red and the ball hit him on his head. 
Doesn’t have it in him to yell about you messing up his serves (he’s too shocked to anyway lol)
Semi
Malfunctions when he sees you
Luckily he’s not playing so he has time to collect himself
Unluckily Tendo also sees you and he knows he’s done for
Cue teasing and him trying to act like it didn’t have an effect on him
Semi sees you when they’re doing stretches to get ready to play. He pauses mid stretch, which gets him yelled at, and before he can compose himself Tendo also happens to see you. “Oho? Semi Semi, why didn’t you let the rest of us know you had such a cute little cheerleader?” Tendo teases as they stretch.
“Exactly that, they’re my cheerleader.” He glares at Tendo but then his face softens when he sees you wave slightly at him. He waves back with a gentle grin on his face. When he waves back he sees how your face lights up and you quickly gesture to your outfit and poster. You were going to be the death of him, he’s sure. 
“Save some for the rest of us.” Tendo rolls his eyes as he watches the exchange. 
Very happy that you’re cheering for him and it gives him more confidence when he plays again
Asks you to do it again but let him know and maybe he can help you get ready next time :(
Akaashi
I think he would handle it well
(of topic but-) kissing his hands before the game???? Yes pls
He sees you before the game because of that and needs a moment to collect himself
One of the lucky ones that gets to see you before he even goes on the court. He’s not as bad as Bokuto where he needs to be told there’s as girls cheering him on in order to play better. But he can’t lie when he says it’s definitely a welcomed surprise. “Y/N?” He after you come up to him. He takes a moment to fully appreciate your outfit, the bracelets, the pom poms, his jersey. 
“Oh no, is it too much?” You ask as you cover your mouth in surprise. He immediately shakes his head and grabs your hands in his.
“No, it’s perfect.” You smile and bring his hands up to your mouth and place a gentle kiss on each finger. If he wasn’t flustered before he certainly is now, even though you do this before every game. 
He’s another one who’s able to focus on the game but only because he saw you beforehand
Will kiss you when he sees you (he’s so in love omg)
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I hope you guys liked these <3 my askbox is open but beware that I write like once and drop off the face of the earth for like a month lol
rules
masterlist
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rubiehart · 10 months ago
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🏵️; 𝐬𝐨𝐥 𝐝𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫 - send in any prompt from this list and a character and i’ll write a short blurb based around the prompt!
JJ Maybank with prompt 21 and 22 or 22 and 25 if possible 😋😋
i wanted to write both of these so bad… orgasm control is my thingg🙊 i might get around to writing the other because they’re both so good!!
prompt 22: orgasm control
prompt 25: cockwarming
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you’re balancing two hands on jj’s toned chest, rocking slowly on his cock, squeezing your eyes shut as you try not to focus on the feeling.
he smirks with his hands rested behind head, watching as you struggle to follow his instructions, tapping your thigh lightly when he sees your face scrunch up like you’re close, reminding you.
“no cummin’ mama. y’know the rules.” he nods and you open your eyes to look at him directly, sad desperate eyes reflecting in his own and he fake pouts.
“nah ah. no poutin. you got this baby.” he encourages, his tone not matching his words, only making it harder as you feel the coil in your stomach tighten again, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip as you whine.
jj notices your struggle and tuts quietly. “hold it. ‘m not kiddin’.” your legs shake as you approach your high, the desperation for it higher than ever after being stopped by jj well over ten times that night. “please…” you whimper, but it’s no use because you’re cumming all over his cock a second later, the pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave as you whine out, digging your nails into his chest.
he watches with hard eyes and glinting teeth as the white runs down his shaft, he doesn’t give you time to react before he’s flipping you over, strong arms caging you in, keeping your legs spread as he grins, but his eyes aren’t kind. “nah don’t give me that look, i got no sympathy.” he says through clenched teeth before thrusting harshly back into you, digging your nails into his shoulders as you cry out. “shh.. you just let me do the work, ‘kay? since you can’t follow one fuckin’ rule.”
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capuccinodoll · 11 days ago
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The boyfriend act, part 1: "The one with the proposal" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader
SERIES MASTERLIST
Chapter summary: The journey from Dallas to Austin is tense but tolerable, as you and Frankie do your best to ignore the mutual disdain simmering between you. But everything derails when a chance encounter with Harry—your ex—and his fiancée pushes you to tell a spur-of-the-moment lie. Frankie’s reaction makes it clear he’s not on board. WC: 14.3k
A/N: Okay, here's my new baby! And I fucking love it! I hope you enjoy this story as much as I've been enjoying writing it. Also, just a heads-up: I’ve taken some creative liberties with the characters. While this story is inspired by the ones in Triple Frontier, it barely follows the events of the movie, and the characters themselves aren’t portrayed exactly as they are in the film. PS: I’d love to hear your thoughts—your feedback means so much to me! Knowing what you think truly motivates me to keep going. So don't hesitate and let me know <3 Also, if you want to be on the tag list, let me know. And don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifs :)
When Santiago’s message arrived, you read it three times, as if repetition might change the words or soften their impact.
[Santi]: Hey bubs, mornin. I’m really sorry but I won’t be able to come get you. I’ll meet you at home later tho. Frankie will pick you up, same time as planned, don’t worry:)
The words seemed to pulse faintly on the screen, a quiet disruption of the neat plan you’d constructed in your head.
Frankie. He wasn’t your first choice—or your second, or third. If you were honest, he didn’t even make the list.
That morning had started with a sense of calm, a kind of orderly anticipation. The steady hum of the fan in the corner of Emma’s room, the cool sting of the shower water, the first sip of coffee, sweet and bitter all at once—it all felt like the clean slate of a well-prepared day. You’d zipped your suitcase shut with a satisfying finality, placed your carry-on by the door. Nothing left to chance.
The plan was simple: you’d take the bus. Predictable, unremarkable. But Santiago had insisted earlier that week, his voice crackling through the phone with a kind of rare, unguarded enthusiasm.
“We can stop for lunch, you know? Like we used to do with dad. Maybe even take a detour if we find somethin' cool,” he’d said, his tone warm, almost playful.
You’d been leaning against Emma’s kitchen counter at the time, a glass of wine in one hand, a cube of cheese in the other, and your phone between your cheek and your shoulder. Emma raised an eyebrow from across the room, silently prompting you to explain.
“Everything okay with Yovanna?” you teased, your voice carrying just enough edge to feel like a joke, even though it wasn’t entirely one. “Or is this an excuse to run away for the day?”
“Fuck you,” he laughed, the kind of laugh that came easily between you two. “I just want to spend time with you. It’s been ages since we really caught up. I miss you like hell.”
That stopped you. He wasn’t wrong—months had passed since the two of you had talked properly, beyond the surface-level exchanges over meals or texts.
“Okay,” you’d said, your voice softer than before, though you avoided looking at Emma. “I miss you too. I’ll wait for you then.”
And now, this. No Santiago, no shared lunch or detours. Just Frankie, an unwelcome rewrite of the day you thought you had mapped out so clearly.
You sat back against the bed frame, rereading the message one last time. Frankie will pick you up. Frankie will pick you up. Frankie. Frankie. Fucking Frankie. Now the plan had unraveled, and the disappointment felt sharper than you wanted to admit.
You let the phone fall to the bed beside you, the screen dimming as it landed.
Emma lay stretched out next to you, her head tilted toward the TV, where an episode of Friends played on low volume. It was one of those episodes you both knew by heart, the kind you could recite without effort. The one where everybody finds out. The blue light from the screen washed over her face, softening her features, making her eyes look brighter than they really were. Without looking away, she reached out and hooked her arm around yours, a quiet gesture that felt like home. She’d done the same thing when you were teenagers, sharing the lumpy couch in your parents’ living room, giggling over something trivial while your mom cooked dinner in the next room.
“What happened?” she murmured, her voice soft but curious, as if she could already sense the shift in your mood. The laugh track bubbled in the background, filling the space between her words.
“Santi’s not coming,” you said, glancing at the TV without really seeing it. “He sent Frankie.”
You felt a pang, not just from the change in plans but from the weight of the goodbye looming in the background. You’d learned to carry that feeling since Emma moved out of Austin—this persistent ache, like a thread pulling tighter with every visit that ended. On most days, it faded into the background. But today, it stuck to you, clinging like a damp sock you couldn’t quite shake off.
“That Frankie?” 
“I doubt he knows any others.”
“How convenient,” she said, her voice low with mockery, though her arm squeezed yours gently. “Well, call me when you get there. And try to be nice to him, if you can manage it.”
Emma turned her head slightly, just enough to glance at you out of the corner of her eye. “And don’t take too long to come back and visit me, okay?” 
“You could always visit Austin, you know."
“It’s more fun if you come here. You get to be a tourist,” she said, with that breezy logic she always used to disarm you. “I already know Austin. That’s not so exciting.”
You snorted, more out of habit than disagreement. She wasn’t wrong. Emma rarely was.
The rest of the evening passed in near silence, broken only by the low murmur of the television. First, another episode of Friends, then one of The Nanny. The rhythm of the shows was familiar, the kind of easy, forgettable comfort that didn’t require much from you. At some point, Emma shifted closer, resting her head on your shoulder. Her breathing slowed, deepened, a steady rise and fall that seemed to sync with your own. She didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. There was something about her presence, her weight against you, that felt like a reminder—you were understood here, even when you didn’t have the words to explain yourself. She wasn't just your best friend, she was your sister.
The sharp blare of a car horn shattered the calm, breaking through the evening like the crack of distant thunder. You flinched, your body instinctively tensing, the warm cocoon of the moment dissolving in an instant. Emma didn’t stir much, her eyes still closed, her arm still draped over yours. You nudged her gently, tapping her arm until she groaned softly and sat up, squinting against the glow of the TV.
“I think he’s here,” you said, your voice low but cutting through the quiet.
Emma stretched in one graceful motion, her arms arching overhead before she bent down to grab the bright lavender Crocs she kept by the bed. The shoes, adorned with an assortment of decorative pins—a blue flower, a miniature coffee cup, and a small plastic dinosaur—were an oddly perfect reflection of her: delicate, energetic, and just the right amount of ridiculous, in the best way. 
“Come on, I’ll walk you out,” she said, her tone casual, but there was a softness to it, an unspoken understanding that made the impending goodbye feel heavier.
Outside, the heat clung to you immediately, the air thick and sticky, humming with the faint buzz of cicadas. Your gaze landed on the car parked in front of Emma’s house, and something in you tensed. It wasn’t Santi’s car, of course, and it wasn’t Santi standing there waiting.
Frankie was leaning against the hood, arms crossed, his whole posture radiating impatience. He looked as though he’d been sculpted there, his bored expression so exaggerated it almost felt theatrical. The heat shimmered in waves around him, but he didn’t seem to notice—or care. He wore a rumpled gray shirt that looked like it hadn’t been ironed in weeks and a pair of dark sunglasses, their reflective lenses hiding whatever was going on behind them. The cap was familiar, too—plain, worn, the same style you’d seen him wear before, though this time in a faded gray that matched his shirt.
For a fleeting, irrational moment, you thought maybe this was all a mistake. That Santi might suddenly appear, stepping out from behind the car or walking up the driveway with that easy laugh of his, telling you it had all been a joke. But the driveway remained empty, and Frankie, noticing you, straightened up with a kind of deliberate slowness.
He started walking toward you, each step measured, as if he were pacing himself for an obligation he didn’t particularly want to fulfill. His movements had the casual indifference of someone who would rather be anywhere else, but was too resigned to argue.
“Where’s Santi?” you asked as you approached, the question coming out sharper than you’d intended.
Frankie didn’t answer immediately. He simply closed the distance between you with deliberate, unhurried steps. Then, without a word, he grabbed the suitcase from your hand in one fluid motion. The gesture caught you off guard—not because he took it, but because of how mechanical it felt. He didn’t look at you, didn’t acknowledge you in any meaningful way. It was as though you were just an extension of the bag he was moving, an obstacle to be dealt with as quickly as possible.
“He couldn’t make it,” he said at last, his voice flat, almost dismissive.
He hauled the suitcase toward the trunk and tossed it in with a thud that seemed louder than it should’ve been. The sound echoed briefly, underscoring his lack of finesse. He slammed the trunk shut with a single decisive motion and turned back toward the driver’s seat, his body language broadcasting that he considered the interaction over.
“He didn’t tell me anything about it,” you said, your voice rising slightly, tinged with disbelief. You stayed rooted to the spot, your feet planted as if the weight of the confusion had sunk into the concrete beneath you.
Frankie paused, his hand on the car door.
“It was a last-minute thing.” 
Before you could respond—before you could even begin to untangle your frustration into something coherent—he opened the door, slid into the driver’s seat, and pulled it shut behind him with a force that made the air shudder.
You turned back toward the house. Emma was watching from the porch, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. Her expression hovered somewhere between curiosity and bewilderment, her head tilting slightly as you approached.
She hugged you tightly, holding on a beat longer than usual. When you pulled away, her eyes searched yours, silently asking questions you didn’t have answers for.
“I’ll call you when I get there,” you said, though you weren’t sure what the call would entail—whether you’d laugh about all this, or vent, or just let her voice fill the empty spaces.
Her lips twitched into a faint smile, one tinged with resignation.
“I love you so much,” you added, your voice quieter now. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
“I always do. I love you too. Take care and call me as soon as you can."
She stepped back as you turned toward the car, your feet dragging slightly with each step.
Now, an hour and a half later, the car sped steadily toward Austin, the scenery blurring into a series of indistinct shapes. Frankie hadn’t said a word since you’d left Emma’s house, and the silence had settled in the car like a heavy fog, pressing down on you with every passing mile.
You’d considered speaking—several times, in fact—but every potential conversation starter you thought of seemed pointless. What was there to say to him? You barely knew each other, and what little you did know felt more like a series of grudges than shared history. The only things you had in common were your mutual love for Santi and, apparently, your mutual irritation with each other. Neither felt like enough to bridge the yawning gap between you.
You stared out the window, the dry, flat landscape sliding by in endless monotony, like a movie stripped of plot and color. Pale beige fields stretched into the horizon, broken only by the occasional cluster of power lines. The sameness of it all seemed to lull the world into a kind of dull, static hum.  
The only relief came from the music spilling softly from the car’s speakers—classic rock, its grainy tones unmistakable even at low volume. The sound was tethered to Frankie’s phone, resting in the cupholder beside him, the screen glowing faintly every so often with an incoming notification he didn’t bother to check. A Fleetwood Mac song began again, its familiar opening chords filling the silence for the third time since you’d left.  
You shifted in your seat, glancing at him from the corner of your eye before turning your attention back to the road ahead.
“Do you like this song?” 
“I think so.”
“It’s played three times already.”
“It’s a good song,” he said softly, his voice low enough to be mistaken for an afterthought. 
You turned back to the window, letting the conversation dissolve into the space between you. He hadn’t said it to be defensive—just matter-of-fact, like the song itself was reason enough. You folded your arms across your chest, the seatbelt digging slightly into your side.  
Then, your mind wandered back to Santi, to the message that had upended your day. What had he been thinking? Of all his friends, why send Frankie? The question rolled over in your head, each repetition more insistent than the last. Was it an oversight? A logistical decision made in haste, without considering how you’d feel about it? Or was it intentional? That idea sat uneasily with you, gnawing at the edge of your thoughts. He knew how strange things felt between you and Frankie. Hell, everyone knew. They’d all been there, witnessed it firsthand—the arguments, the uncomfortable silences, the way your personalities seemed to clash as naturally as oil and water.  
The possibility that Santi might’ve chosen Frankie on purpose—maybe even as some misguided attempt to force you into tolerating each other—bothered you more than you wanted to admit. You shifted again, suddenly restless, as the car hummed along the empty stretch of highway, the silence between you growing heavier despite the steady background of Fleetwood Mac.
Over the last few years, Frankie had been a fixture in your life, the way someone else’s shadow might be—not yours, but unavoidable. Being your brother’s best friend meant your paths crossed often enough, though you both seemed to approach these encounters with mutual disdain. You didn’t like him, and he didn’t bother pretending to like you. Disgust was the word that came to mind when you thought about how he looked at you. Not exaggerated or theatrical, just a cool, unflinching disgust, as though he found something about you fundamentally wrong. 
The last time you’d spoken more than a handful of clipped, perfunctory words to each other was in Santi’s kitchen a few years ago. That was the breaking point. The fight. It wasn’t dramatic, not really—no yelling, no slammed doors—but it was the kind of exchange that changed things irreversibly. After that, you decided you didn’t want to think about him, let alone look at him, ever again.
And that was the end of it. You stopped trying to explain. You'd come to accept that to Santi, Frankie was probably nothing like how you saw him. You weren't sure what it was about him that rubbed you the wrong way, but you knew that with your brother, Frankie surely couldn't be as unpleasant as he was with you. 
So, you ignored him. Every time you saw him, you made sure your gaze passed over him like he was just another fixture in the room. And he did the same. It was as though you were two people occupying the same space, but never truly sharing it.
Why on earth, then, had he agreed to come and pick you up?
The silence in the car stretched on, and you settled into the uncomfortable rhythm of it, letting it fill the space between you and him. Frankie’s eyes stayed fixed on the road, and his thumbs twitched restlessly over the steering wheel.
Finally, he broke the silence, but his words felt like a formality.
“We'll stop for lunch,” he said, his voice low, almost indifferent. His gaze flickered to you for a brief second, enough to make sure you had heard, before returning to the road. “I haven’t eaten anything all day. Do you mind?”
You were starting to feel the pangs of hunger yourself, but you didn’t let that soften your response. You couldn’t. 
“No,” you replied, your voice curt, colder than you intended.
Frankie nodded, the movement barely noticeable. He turned his attention back to the road, his expression unchanged, as though you hadn’t spoken at all. His calmness was maddening. 
For a moment, you considered breaking the silence again, saying something just to disrupt his steady composure. But then you thought better of it. There was still a long way to go, and the last thing you wanted was for this trip to feel even more suffocating than it already was. So you stayed silent, the weight of your irritation pressing down on you, knowing that with each mile, you were only getting closer to end of this torture.
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Fifteen minutes later, the engine turned off  and you looked over at the driver's side, half-expecting Frankie to say something—anything—but he was already in motion. Before you could open your mouth, the door swung open, and he was out of the car, his body moving with an urgency that seemed to come from some invisible force, as though he were escaping the confines of the vehicle. For a moment, the empty passenger seat seemed to expand, making the car feel smaller, quieter. 
You stayed there a second longer, watching as Frankie made his way across the parking lot. His steps were steady, deliberate, almost too casual, as if walking away from you might somehow erase you from the moment entirely. He didn’t look back, didn’t pause to see if you were following. And honestly, you weren’t in any rush to do so. There was no reason to catch up with him. He clearly didn’t want you there, and you didn’t want to be near him either. This trip wasn’t about you; it was about doing your brother a favor.
The parking lot was modest, just enough space for the few cars scattered about. It wasn’t anything remarkable, just a typical lot for a small, unassuming restaurant. The faded lines barely marked the spots, and you counted five cars parked across the patch of asphalt. The windows of the restaurant were perfectly clean, and you could see people inside. A couple of families were chatting animatedly at their tables, and a few solitary diners were hunched over their food, their focus far from the simple meal in front of them.
With a sigh, you walked toward the entrance. Above the door, the sign Jimmy’s buzzed softly in red neon, its glow a little too bright for the evening light. Next to it, a yellow arrow with tiny, flickering bulbs pointed inside, inviting anyone who passed by to come in. "Eat here!" The sign seemed eager, almost enthusiastic in its attempt to catch attention.
You pushed open the door, the bell chiming brightly above your head as you stepped inside. The rush of cool air from the air conditioning met you instantly, a welcome contrast to the heat that still clung to your skin from the car. The coolness was almost too sharp, sending a slight shiver down your spine as you paused just inside the doorway. Your eyes took a moment to adjust to the softer light inside. The diner was small, but it had a cozy, familiar feel, with colorful walls and a few tables scattered around. The noise inside was a comfortable hum, punctuated by the occasional clink of silverware, low conversation and the music in the background.
It didn’t take long to spot him. Frankie was seated at the bar, absorbed in the menu in front of him. His posture was casual, but there was something about the way he held himself, his shoulders slightly hunched, that made it feel like he was a little too withdrawn, like he didn’t want to engage. 
You walked toward him slowly, the sound of your footsteps softened by the tiles beneath you. You were just about to sit next to him when he looked up, his gaze meeting yours briefly before returning to the menu. His voice was flat, almost bored as he spoke, as if the interaction was nothing more than a passing inconvenience.
“Go find a table,” he said, his tone neither rude nor warm.
You frowned, taking the menu from his hand without a word. His gaze didn’t follow you as he stood up, stretching slightly as he rose from the bar stool. There was something about his movements—relaxed, yet sharp—that made you feel like you weren’t really a part of whatever was going on. His shirt clung slightly to his back from the heat of the car, the evidence of sweat still visible on his skin, and you couldn't help but notice the fine hairs on his arms standing on end, a subtle sign of the sharp contrast between the stifling heat outside and the chill of the air-conditioned room.
“I’m goin' to the bathroom. Be back in a sec,” he added casually, his voice even, before disappearing down the narrow hallway to the right. No expectation of a response. No glance to see if you were still standing there, just a simple statement. He was gone before you could offer anything in reply.
You were left standing there, the laminated menu in your hands, a slight weariness creeping in.
With a sigh, you turned on your heels and began scanning the room for a table. There was still at least an hour and a half of travel left, plus however long you'd spend eating. Why hadn’t Santi given you a heads-up? You could’ve taken the bus or the train, something that didn’t involve sitting in a car with anyone but him. But no, that wasn’t even an option, apparently. 
You spotted an empty table near the back, next to the window, and as you walked toward it, the decor around you caught your eye. The place had a playful, nostalgic vibe, as if it were trying to channel the spirit of another time. Framed posters of Grease, Fame, Footloose, and Saturday Night Fever hung on the walls, adding to the feeling of a throwback to the ‘70s and ‘80s. It was all very upbeat, almost theatrical, like a movie set. The tables were red and white, and a jukebox stood in the corner.
You glanced at the posters, half wondering if the owner had lived through that era or just loved the aesthetic of it all. Either way, it gave the place a sense of warmth and a bit of character, a stark contrast to the outside. 
Suddenly, a voice cut through the quiet murmur of the restaurant, sharp and unexpected, and your name echoed in the air. You froze, the sound ricocheting in your chest, followed by a rush of emotions you didn’t want to acknowledge, let alone feel. You could feel the familiar tension ripple through your muscles, a mix of surprise, confusion, and something deeper you couldn’t quite place. Slowly, you turned to face him, every step feeling like it took an eternity.
“Harry,” you said, the name falling from your lips like it belonged to someone else, someone distant. A smile flickered across your face—perfectly timed and just the right shape, though it felt hollow, as fake as the kindness you were trying to project. Your lips tightened, a familiar mask of politeness slipping over your expression, one you wished you didn’t have to wear. “What... what are you doing here?”
His smile was instant and disarming, his surprise clear, and his happiness so genuine it made your chest tighten. For a moment, it erased the absurdity of seeing him here, of all places, in the middle of nowhere. The coincidence felt cruel, as if the universe was playing a cruel joke on you.
The last time you saw him, three months ago, it felt like a lifetime ago—a goodbye steeped in heartbreak. You’d clung to him, tears soaking his crisp white shirt as he whispered reassurances: “It’s okay. You’ll be okay. I care about you.” But the words he didn’t say cut deeper: he cared for you, but he loved her.  
It had been a casual fling, no strings attached—or so you told yourself. Then came the day he confessed: he was in love with Lisa, a friend you’d never met. They were getting married. His words, calm and rehearsed, felt like a gut punch, but his excitement betrayed him. He was happy. You weren’t.  
You tried to be strong, to tell him you were fine, even as you broke down. Because you loved him, and you couldn’t bear the thought of him with her.  
And now, here he was, smiling like nothing had happened, curiosity in his eyes—oblivious to the wreckage he’d left behind.  
In front of him, Lisa was sitting with a big bright smile. You’d seen her face before, her perfectly curated Instagram photos, her flawless smile that could have been lifted straight from a movie. But in person? She was even more striking, the kind of beauty that didn’t need filters or captions. The kind of beauty that made everything around her seem insignificant, that made you feel small just standing next to her. Her presence was magnetic, the sort of thing that pulled your gaze despite every instinct telling you to look away.
Suddenly, the air conditioning hit you like a blast of cold, sharp enough to make you flinch. But then again, maybe it wasn’t the air conditioning. Maybe it was just your body freezing in place, rigid with surprise and something much harder to define. You didn’t know how to respond. Harry was talking—his voice was there, filling the space, but the words barely reached you. They felt like distant echoes, the kind that might have meant something once but now were just noise, reverberating uselessly around you.
“What are you doing around here?” he asked, pulling you back from the tangle of thoughts you were trying so hard to keep at bay.
You blinked, trying to center yourself, but it was like you had forgotten how to breathe properly.
“We’re... I’m just passing through, heading back to Austin,” you said, your voice sounding too steady, too rehearsed, even to your own ears. Your heart was lodged somewhere near your throat, threatening to choke you if you said too much. “I went to visit Emma.”
“Ah, Emma. How is she? Is she still in Dallas?”
“Yep,” you answered, the word sharp and clipped, offering nothing more. 
The silence hung between you, thick and uncomfortable. You could feel it stretching, wrapping itself around your words, making them heavier than they needed to be. Finally, you exhaled, the air coming out in a slow, resigned sigh.
“What about you guys? What are you doing around here?”
You didn’t really want to know, not at all.
“Lisa’s grandparents live in Waco,” Harry said with that wide smile of his, the one that always made you feel like you were watching the world tilt on its axis. He looked at Lisa like she was the center of his universe, as if everything that mattered began and ended with her. “We went to take the invitation to them personally and I met the rest of the family while we were at it.”
You didn’t smile. You couldn’t. Your lips pulled tight, the gesture feeling almost painful, like your face wasn’t sure how to form the expression anymore. The words were there, though, just beneath the surface.
“Right, right.” You swallowed, forcing the words out despite how hollow they felt. “How cool. You must be so excited—a summer wedding, then?”
You’d known for weeks—September 6th. The invitation, with its sparkling gold lettering, had made your stomach churn. You buried it under junk mail, unable to face seeing him so happy, so certain of what he had.
But you couldn’t say that, could you? You couldn’t tell him that the mere thought of them together, of their future, felt like a knife to your chest. So you forced a smile, a tight, lifeless thing, and let the conversation carry on.
"That's right," Harry said, laughing as his gaze flickered to Lisa, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Even though we wanted to enjoy the early days of fall, Lisa wanted to get married around summer, mostly because of her parents. They got married during summer too."
Lisa laughed softly, the sound like a note held too long, then spoke, her voice low and warm.
"It's not just that," she said, her hand resting lightly on Harry's. You found yourself looking away, unable to hold the image of them together for too long. "Everything looks more beautiful during this season, doesn't it? Even the days last longer."
Her voice was thick with something you couldn't quite place—familiarity, maybe. Or maybe it was love, that unspoken thing that you couldn’t ignore, even if you wanted to. The way they fit together made everything else seem smaller, less important. And yet Harry’s eyes shifted to you, seeking something. Approval, maybe. He didn’t say it, but it was clear. His look said: Don’t disagree.
"That's true. Summer is beautiful," you replied, feeling the words slip out too easily, forced through your teeth. Your voice came out softer than you intended, and you felt Lisa’s smile hit you like a jolt. It was stunning—perfect in a way that seemed almost too much, like she’d been born to smile in that exact way. You hated her for it, just a little.
"We look forward to seeing you there," Harry said, breaking the moment, his words direct and heavy. "We haven't received your confirmation—you’re going, aren't you?"
How could he ask that, not see how unnatural this felt? But Harry wasn’t cruel—just unaware. You’d never told him you loved him, never made your feelings clear. To him, this was normal. He thought you’d be fine.
“I... um—” 
“Don’t worry about going alone,” he said, that same nonchalant tone that had once made you smile. "You always meet people at weddings."
Heat flooded your face, burning like a slap. The words stung, but his obliviousness made it worse. You wished the ground would swallow you whole—or anything to escape. Instead, you laughed—a thin, brittle sound that barely masked the pain.
"Ah, no, that’s not it," you lied, your voice trembling just enough for Harry to notice. "That's covered."
“Oh, is it?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow, his interest piqued. He leaned forward, a relieved smile crossing his face.
"Sure," you said, forcing a confidence into your tone that you didn’t feel. "I’ll... I’ll go with my boyfriend."
Harry's eyes widened a little, and then the smile appeared again—this one more genuine, more curious. He tapped the table, an excited gesture that made your stomach twist.
“You don’t say?” he said, his voice rising in pitch. “And who’s the lucky guy?”
You wanted to crumble. You wanted to say nothing, because the truth felt too big, too overwhelming, and there was no way to say it without everything falling apart. But you couldn't. You just couldn't.
As if by some celestial miracle, you saw Frankie emerge from the hallway, his attention absorbed by the screen of his phone, scrolling, unaware of anything around him. His timing was perfect, and relief washed over you, as if fate had sent him. He wasn’t supposed to be here, yet there he was—a lifeline in the chaos.  
For a moment, he seemed to glow, his familiar, worn cap catching the harsh lights like a crown. You’d never been so glad to see someone. Then his eyes met yours, and his expression shifted—confusion flickering as he took in your frantic stance, the mess of emotions written on your face.  
Before you could stop it, before you could make any sense of what was happening, a smile stretched across your face—too wide, too fast, like a reflex you hadn’t been prepared for. It was probably a little too sharp to be anything but forced, but you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t help anything.
"Frankie," you said, the words tumbling out with more enthusiasm than you intended. It sounded too bright, almost exaggerated, but there was no stopping it now. "This is Frankie... Frankie, my boyfriend.”
You weren’t sure what you were doing, but it didn’t matter—you needed to make something clear. Frankie tensed beside you, glancing your way, trying to read the situation. His eyes met yours, and you silently begged him: Help. Please.
For a moment, he studied you, his gaze flicking between you and the couple. Then, as if something clicked, his expression shifted to understanding. He realized what he had to do and adjusted instantly.
"Right," he finally said, his voice low, the smile on his face still a little unsure but polite. "I’m Frankie."
Harry extended his hand with a practiced smile, warm but a touch too bright. Frankie hesitated, his gaze shifting from Harry’s hand to your face, brow slightly furrowed as he tried to assess the situation—or his role in it.  
You stepped closer, tapping his waist lightly, a subtle signal to act. He blinked, refocusing, and finally took Harry’s hand, his grip firm and deliberate. But in his eyes, there was a flicker of discomfort—one only you noticed.
“Frankie,” Harry said, his voice carrying a weight of something too calm for the situation. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I'm Harry.” Then, he nodded enthusiastically, dropping his hand back to the table. “And this is Lisa."
Lisa smiled, her gaze bright and almost blinding.
“Nice to meet ya, Frankie,” she said, her voice the epitome of warmth, her charm effortless, her presence just... perfect. Oh my God, just stop it!
Frankie finally turned his attention back to you, though it wasn’t immediately clear if he was still processing the social niceties or deciding how best to carry this conversation forward. His voice shifted slightly as he spoke again.
“Same here,” he said, his tone unfamiliar to you—something smoother, almost softer, like he was trying to convince himself as much as anyone else. 
He moved closer, just a bit too close, slipping his arm around your waist with ease, sending a flutter through your stomach. His hand rested lightly against your side, his palm warm at your back. You froze, unable to focus on anything but the pulse of his touch, the way he effortlessly played the boyfriend role.
It felt wrong, uncomfortable.
Confusion and relief mixed inside you, unsure if the relief came from the act itself or the distraction it provided from the situation.
"Well," Frankie broke the silence. "Sorry to interrupt, but we need to leave soon. I want to make sure this beautiful woman gets some food before we go—otherwise, she goes bad."
You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the way he phrased it. 
Harry chuckled, his easy laughter filling the space.
“Yeah, I believe you,” he said, his grin still wide but with a spark of curiosity. He shot a look at Lisa, then back at Frankie, narrowing his eyes just a touch. “That’s the main reason we stopped. Though I’ll admit,” he added, glancing down at the table with a mock grimace, “I was the one really starving.”
The awkwardness of the moment barely registered for Harry. He seemed to think everything was going smoothly, unaware of the small cracks in the facade that were threatening to show. Frankie, however, was more aware than anyone, and you could see it in his eyes—the way his face shifted from the casual smile to something more guarded, something more carefully neutral. 
Frankie gave a short, almost amused laugh, pulling his arm back from your waist with a light tap. His tone was polite, more deliberate than before.
“Yeah, I’m sure you can relate,” he said, a flicker of warmth in his eyes. “Keeping your lady happy, that's what it's all about, isn't it?” 
You tried to smile, but it came out thin, tight around the edges. Your legs became weak. 
Harry’s laugh was light. He buyed it.
Frankie straightened up slightly, offering his hand to Harry in that careful, calculated way that now seemed practiced, even though it hadn’t been moments ago. His movements were calculated, polite, but entirely different from the Frankie you knew. The way he was acting felt like an entirely unfamiliar version of him—Thank God.
“Okay, thanks for the chat, but we bett—” 
"Yeah, of course," Harry interrupted, still upbeat and completely oblivious to the tension. "It was nice meeting you, Frankie. Take care of her, alright? She's... well, you know. A special one."
Frankie’s smile stiffened, the edges barely moving as he gave a short nod. His eyes flicked to you for a fleeting second, his expression tight and controlled, though something was definitely off.
"I will, man," he replied, voice steady but carrying an underlying edge. "I’ve got her covered. Don’t worry. She’s in good hands."
“Bye, Harry,” you said, turning to him with a friendly but somewhat distant smile, your hand lifting in a wave that felt too casual for the weight of everything you hadn’t said. “And you too, Lisa. Good luck with the wedding!”
Lisa smiled warmly. “Thank you,” she replied, her voice smooth. “Let us know if you're coming."
“Yeah. Hope to see you at the wedding. You too, Frankie,” Harry said, just before you thought about starting to walk to the table at the back of the place.
Frankie looked confused, and looked at you for an answer, or for you to say something.
"Sure," you said, taking him by the arm, ready to leave. "We'll definitely be there!"
You moved in silence toward the booth, Frankie's hand resting at the small of your back, guiding you like an automatic reflex. The low hum of conversation in the restaurant seemed to fade as you both reached the table, and you were strangely relieved that the high backs of the seats shielded you from Harry’s view. 
He dropped into the seat across from you, his presence as loud and brash as ever, even without a word. When you looked at him, it struck you how quickly he'd reverted to the expression he always wore around you—furrowed brows, lips pressed into a thin, almost unnatural line. It wasn’t clear if it was annoyance, confusion, or just him being him.
“I’m so hungry,” you said, flipping through the laminated menu like it might hold the answers to something bigger than lunch. “I really want a burger, and some fries.”
He didn’t reply immediately, his stare heavy on you. Then:
“What the fuck was that?”
You sighed, closing the menu and flattening your hands on the table as if bracing yourself. His face was a familiar mix of wide eyes, creased forehead, and that particular grimace that always made you feel like you’d said something wrong.
You shrugged. “My ex.”
“Okay? And?”
“And that’s it. Nothing else.”
Frankie leaned back with a dramatic exhale, the leather of the booth creaking under him. He shook his head in disbelief, his jaw tightening.
“Since when am I your boyfriend?” he asked, his tone sharp with irritation. “Last time I checked, I was doing your brother a favor.”
“Don’t worry about it,” you said quickly, cheeks warming. You picked up the menu again, trying to will your face back to neutrality. “Thanks for playing along, anyway.”
He sighed—loud, pointed. You glanced up, and sure enough, he was staring at you, his fingers drumming a steady rhythm on the table. Not impatient, exactly. Calculated.
“You’re not going to tell me what the fuck that was?”
You ignored him, letting the embarrassment swirl hot in your stomach as you fixed your eyes on the menu. Burgers. Burgers. Burgers. Burgers. Fries. Onion rings, maybe.
“Hey,” he said sharply, snapping his fingers in front of your face.
You blinked, snapping your head up to look at him.
“Oh, are you talking to me?”
Frankie gave you a look so exaggerated you almost laughed, except you knew he wasn’t joking.
“Who else would I be talking to? You think I’m out here monologuing? Who are you, fucking De Niro?”
“Hey!” you snapped, slamming the menu down on the table. The sound echoed between you, a sharp punctuation that sent a ripple of air across his forehead, lifting the dark strands just slightly. “Don’t talk to me like that, Francisco. Who do you think you’re talking to? We’re not friends.”
He snorted, the sound sharp but oddly soft at the same time, pulling off his cap and placing it on the seat beside him. With a low groan, he ran a hand through his hair, fingers catching briefly in the strands. His gaze found yours again, his posture seemingly relaxed but betraying a subtle tension. You could see it in the way his shoulders didn’t quite settle, in the way his eyes didn’t blink as he studied you.
“I know, we’re not friends. But I just lied for you. Why? Who was that? And why are you acting so weird?”
Before you could answer, he straightened in his seat, leaning forward slightly. “No, wait. The real question is: why are you acting weirder than usual?”
You folded your arms, leaning back until you felt the booth press into your shoulders. Your gaze flicked to the front door, the thought of walking out taking root in your mind. Leaving felt easier—safer. Honestly, you’d rather trudge all the way back to Austin on foot, the heat and endless asphalt blistering your skin, than sit here and explain yourself to Frankie. He wouldn’t care. Worse, he might care just enough to make you regret opening your mouth.
When your eyes returned to him, though, his expression surprised you. Serious, yes. But not angry. He was watching you with an almost disarming calmness, like he’d decided he had all the time in the world to wait for your answer.
You sighed, the sound shaky as it escaped your chest.
“It’s my ex,” you said, barely above a murmur.
“Yes,” he said immediately. “Your ex. I got that part. And?”
“And his fiancée.”
“Aha,” he nodded slowly, like he was piecing something together, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. “Why did you lie to them?”
You swallowed hard, the pulse in your neck thudding too loudly in your ears.
“Because...” Your voice wavered, and you hated it. “Because... Um, he told me I might meet someone at the wedding.”
Frankie blinked, his confusion shifting into something closer to disbelief.
“What?”
“God,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as heat crept up your neck. Your hands dropped to your thighs, fingers curling into the fabric of your jeans. “We dated for four months, and he broke up with me to get engaged to her. Then he invited me to their wedding. When I said I’d go, he told me not to worry about showing up alone, because I’d probably meet someone there.”
Frankie’s mouth opened slightly, but no words came out, so you pressed on, a flush of anger sparking under your skin.
“So, I panicked,” you admitted, your voice sharpening. “I told him not to worry, that I’d bring my boyfriend. And then you showed up, and it just—it made sense in the moment, okay? That’s it.”
“It made sense to you to say I was your boyfriend?” he asked, his tone incredulous. “You couldn’t have said I was someone else? Made up something better?”
“No, it didn’t occur to me!” you hissed, your eyes widening as your voice rose, though you kept it just shy of shouting. “I panicked, okay? I’m sorry! What was I supposed to do?”
He stared at you for a moment, his face a mix of annoyance and bafflement, before leaning back again. You could see the wheels turning in his head, though whatever he was thinking, he wasn’t about to share it with you.
You sank deeper into your seat, glaring at the table like it might offer some kind of solace. But all you could feel was the mortifying heat of his gaze, still fixed firmly on you.
Frankie scratched his forehead, his fingers dragging slowly down to his chin, where they rested briefly before falling to the table. His expression was skeptical, as if he were trying to solve a particularly irritating puzzle.
“Okay,” he started, his voice even but edged with disbelief. “So, you dated this guy for three months—”
“Four months,” you corrected, your tone clipped.
“Right. Four months. And then he left you to get engaged?”
“Yeah.”
Frankie leaned back, his posture deceptively relaxed, but the sharpness in his eyes gave him away.
“You’re telling me he cheated on you, and you’re still planning to go to his fucking wedding? Are you out of your mind?”
He propped his chin on his left hand, elbow planted firmly on the table, and his gaze locked onto you. There was something in his expression that made your stomach twist—a combination of pity and incredulity that made you feel stupid, even if he hadn’t said the word outright.
“No, he didn’t cheat on me,” you replied, lowering your voice as you leaned forward slightly, not wanting anyone else to overhear. “We weren’t in a serious relationship. We were just... casually dating. He was always in love with her, but they couldn’t figure things out. I knew that. He told me.”
Frankie’s eyebrows lifted, his disbelief evident.
“He told you he was in love with another woman, and you still kept dating him?”
“No,” you shot back, frowning. “He told me after a while—around the time we broke up. I would never date someone who was in love with someone else.”
“But you were in love with him, weren’t you?”
There it was. That tone. The one that suggested Frankie thought he had you all figured out, as if your life and feelings were nothing more than a series of obvious moves on a chessboard he could read from across the room. He was so infuriatingly arrogant, so sure of himself.
You narrowed your eyes, but the involuntary twitch of your eyebrows betrayed you.
“I had feelings for him,” you admitted, your voice stiff with frustration.
Frankie tilted his head slightly, his lips quirking into a half-smile that made you want to smack him.
“Okay, let me make sure I’ve got this straight: this guy you casually dated for four months left you for another woman, got engaged, invited you to the wedding, and you, still hung up on him, agreed to go but invented an imaginary boyfriend so you wouldn’t have to show up alone. That about right?”
“I’m not in love with him,” you snapped, crossing your arms defensively and shaking your head.
“I don’t believe you."
“I don’t care what you believe."
“You want to know what I think?”
“Are you deaf?” you said, your lips pressing into a pout. “I just told you I don’t care.”
“I think you’re crazy for going to that wedding,” he said, leaning forward slightly. His voice dropped lower, as though he were sharing a secret, though his words carried no sympathy. “Do you want to torture yourself or something? Are you a masochist?”
The word slipped out like a dagger, his eyes narrowing as he studied your reaction, his face drawing closer, his voice almost a whisper.
You exhaled sharply, a mix of frustration and disbelief, biting your lower lip as you turned to look out the window. The distant hum of cars on the road outside felt like the only thing grounding you in the moment.
When you looked back at him, your voice was steadier, quieter.
“We’re friends. Things between us ended well. Why wouldn’t I go to his wedding?”
“So he broke your heart, and you’re still going to his wedding. Got it.” Frankie leaned back slightly as he said it, his tone deliberately even, but the words were sharp enough to make you flinch.
You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, anger mixing with a deep, familiar embarrassment.
“Why the fuck do you care anyway? I already told you everything. Make fun of me all you want, but stop interrogating me and leave me alone.”
Frankie’s eyebrows lifted, his expression shifting into something maddeningly amused. A slow, sarcastic smile spread across his face, the kind that made your stomach twist in irritation.
“You got me involved in this, remember?” he said, his voice light, almost playful, which only made you angrier.
“It was just a little lie, that’s all.”
He let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head.
“Well, you didn’t think it through,” he said flatly, reaching across the table to grab the menu you’d abandoned. He straightened it out in front of him, his fingers smoothing the creases, and his eyes scanned the options with an air of exaggerated focus.
For a moment, you thought he might actually drop it. But of course, he didn’t.
“I wonder what he’ll think,” Frankie said suddenly, his tone casual but cutting, “when he sees you show up to the wedding alone.” His eyes stayed on the menu, but his words hung heavy in the air between you. “You should’ve come up with something else. Be more witty next time. Or, I don’t know, just don’t go to the wedding. That works too.”
Oh.
Your stomach churned at the thought, the weight of it pressing down on you as your mind raced through the possibilities. He was right, of course. What were you going to do? There was no way you could actually show up to the wedding now. You’d have to turn down the invitation at the last minute, make up some absurd excuse about why you couldn’t make it. Or maybe you wouldn’t say anything at all. Harry didn’t deserve an explanation. He wasn’t entitled to one.
The silence stretched between you, uncomfortable and loud. You didn’t answer him. What could you say? You felt silly, even ridiculous, sitting there, replaying the moment over and over in your mind. Of all the places in the world, did you really have to run into Harry there, in the middle of the road, with Frankie of all people?
None of this would’ve happened if Santiago had come to pick you up like he was supposed to. If he’d warned you he couldn’t make it, you would’ve saved yourself the humiliation. You wouldn’t have had to deal with Frankie’s smirking face or his infuriating commentary.
You stared at the table, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of it. God, why did everything have to turn into a mess? Why couldn’t things just go smoothly for once?
Frankie didn’t seem to notice—or care—that you hadn’t responded. He flipped a page of the menu, his expression unreadable now, as if he’d already moved on. But his words lingered, heavy and persistent, refusing to leave you alone.
With your appetite nearly nonexistent, you ordered a hamburger. It sat heavy in front of you, unappealing and far too big. You nibbled at it slowly, methodically, as if chewing it down might somehow help you swallow the rest of your humiliation. Across the table, Frankie made quick work of his own meal. He ate like someone who hadn’t seen food in days, the kind of eating that could make anyone watching feel small.
When he finished—barely ten minutes in—he leaned back in his chair and fixed you with a look. Not an outright stare, but enough of one that you could feel the weight of his impatience.
You didn’t care.
Instead, you turned your attention to the fries on your plate. Picking up each one with deliberate slowness, you savored them, your gaze drifting toward the window. Outside, the road stretched on endlessly, shimmering in the summer heat. Frankie sighed, low and exasperated, every few minutes, but to your surprise, he didn’t rush you.
When you finally stood to leave, Harry and Lisa were nowhere to be seen. Relief swept over you like cool water. If you’d had to exchange goodbyes with them, you were sure you’d lose every bite of food you’d managed to stomach.
You followed Frankie out to the car. His footsteps were quick and purposeful, the kind that demanded anyone trailing behind him keep up or risk being left behind. Once inside, the tight, enclosed space of the vehicle made your skin crawl. You clicked your seatbelt into place, but the snugness of the strap across your chest only added to your discomfort.
For a fleeting moment, you considered bolting. What if you just opened the door and threw yourself onto the hot, sticky asphalt? You’d roll a little, maybe scrape a knee, but at least you wouldn’t be here.
The car started with a low rumble, and Frankie turned up the music without a word. The sound wasn’t loud enough to drown out your thoughts, but it added a layer of noise, a distraction you didn’t ask for but didn’t resist either.
Your gaze shifted to the scenery blurring past the window. You rested your forehead against the cool glass, welcoming the breeze coming in through the lowered window. The air smelled faintly of gasoline and sun-warmed earth.
Frankie drove in silence, his hands steady on the wheel. His thumbs tapped along to the rhythm of the song playing faintly in the background—Rebel Yell by Billy Idol. You stared at the horizon, but your mind kept circling back to him.
He probably thought this whole situation was hilarious. You could see it in the way his eyebrows had lifted earlier, the way his lips twitched with incredulity every time he asked about Harry. He didn’t need to say it—he thought you were foolish, and maybe you were. You felt it, deep in your chest, that heavy, sinking shame that told you he was right to think so.
What the hell were you going to do?
Not going to the wedding wasn’t an option, not unless you wanted Harry to think you were still upset—or worse, that you still cared. But going? Going alone? That wasn’t an option either. You could bring someone else, maybe. But who?
Harry knew all your friends, and you didn’t have many male ones left who weren’t married, taken, or entirely inappropriate. Your brother’s friends? Sure, because that would work out great. Another one of Santiago’s buddies, strolling in on your arm. You ran through the list in your head. Will? No. Ben? Ben had a girlfriend.
It was hopeless. Every scenario felt more humiliating than the last.
God, you wished you could disappear. Or better yet, transform into something simple and unbothered. A worm, maybe. Worms didn’t have exes. They didn’t have weddings to dread.
You were spiraling, and it must have shown on your face because Frankie spoke up, his voice breaking through your chaotic thoughts.
“We’ll make a stop to fill up the tank, okay?” His tone was casual, distracted, as he turned left into the gas station lot.
“Sure,” you mumbled, barely lifting your head.
The car slowed to a stop, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. For a moment, the world outside felt steadier than the one inside your head.
You followed Frankie out of the car, your steps slower and more hesitant than his easy stride. He moved with the kind of casual confidence that seemed effortless, his shoulders relaxed and his head bobbing slightly as he hummed along to a song that had been playing a few miles back. The heat pressed down on you, thick and relentless, but he didn’t seem to notice.  
You lingered by the passenger side, arms folded across your chest. Your gaze flitted to the gas station shop, where shelves of snacks and cold drinks promised brief relief from the sweltering air. For a fleeting moment, you considered going inside—maybe grabbing a soda, or even just standing under the blast of an air conditioner. But then you thought about how much longer that would draw out this journey. The idea of extending your time in Frankie’s company, even by a minute, was enough to keep you rooted in place.  
So you waited, watching him in silence. He moved with the kind of efficiency you’d expect from someone used to things like this—mundane tasks, long drives, solitude. He didn’t rush, but he didn’t dawdle either. He glanced at you once as he replaced the nozzle, his expression unreadable, and then he climbed back into the car without a word.  
You followed suit, settling into your seat and pulling the door shut with a soft click.  
The miles ahead stretched out endlessly, yet the closer you got to Austin, the more your thoughts swirled. You cycled through possibilities, none of them good. Each option felt like another layer of embarrassment, a new way to showcase just how deeply you’d tangled yourself in this ridiculous situation.  
Eventually, your mind settled on one solution—a compromise of sorts, though it was far from ideal. You turned it over and over, weighing the risk against your pride. It felt heavy in your chest, but the closer you got to the city, the harder it became to ignore.  
Finally, as the familiar outline of Austin came into view, you forced yourself to speak.  
“Frankie,” you said, your voice tentative. You turned to look at him, your hands fidgeting nervously in your lap.  
He didn’t take his eyes off the road. “What?”  
“You know,” you began, cautiously, “Santi loves you a lot. You’re one of his best friends.”  
“I know.” 
“And you must love Santi too, right? I mean, you’d do anything for him.”  
At that, he glanced at you, his brows knitting together in confusion. The kindness in your voice must have thrown him off. But what really seemed to unnerve him was the faint, almost hesitant smile you were giving him.  
“Of course I love him,” he said slowly, his tone edged with suspicion. “What do you want?”  
You smiled a little wider, tilting your head. “Why do you think I want something?”  
“Because you’re smiling at me like that,” he shot back, returning his focus to the road. “And it’s creepy. Stop it. You’re scaring me.”  
“I just think,” you said carefully, “that it was really nice of you to go all the way to Dallas to pick me up. You didn’t have to, you know. I could’ve taken a bus or figured something out. But you did it anyway. You did me a favor today, and I just—”  
He cut you off with a dry laugh, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. A bead of sweat had formed there, glistening in the harsh afternoon light.
“If you want to call it that,” he muttered.  
“I mean it,” you insisted, leaning slightly toward him. “You didn’t have to do this. You could’ve said no, and I wouldn’t have blamed you. But you didn’t. Why?”  
His grip tightened on the wheel, and he shot you another quick, sidelong glance. His expression was guarded, like he wasn’t sure where this was going or if he wanted to know.
“I dunno,” he said finally, his tone clipped. “Because Santi asked me to. Because I had nothing else to do. Does it matter?”  
You pursed your lips, staring straight ahead as your thoughts spiraled. Why were you nervous? It wasn’t fear—definitely not fear of him. But still, there was something about Frankie that unsettled you, something sharp-edged and unyielding in the way he looked at you, like he could see more than you intended to show.
You forced yourself to steady your breathing, trying to reason with your own hesitation. It didn’t matter if he was intimidating. It didn’t matter what he thought of you.
“I think you should come to the wedding with me,” you blurted, the words tumbling out before you had the chance to second-guess them. As soon as they were out, you snapped your gaze away, focusing intently on a crack in the dashboard as though it held the secrets of the universe.
“What?” Frankie’s tone wasn’t as surprised as you’d expected—it was more amused, like he thought you’d just said something profoundly ridiculous.
“You should come to the wedding with me,” you repeated, forcing yourself to look at him this time.
He turned his head briefly, his eyes scanning your face, his expression unreadable. He seemed to be studying you, trying to decide whether you were joking or if you’d completely lost your mind. Finally, he clicked his tongue and shook his head.
“No,” he said flatly.
“Frankie.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“What’s the matter with you?” he asked, his voice rising slightly in exasperation. “Did you hit your head or something? Have you completely lost it?”
“No, just hear me out,” you said, raising a hand in what you hoped was a calming gesture. He shot you a wary glance but didn’t interrupt. “It’ll just be a favor—a small favor. I swear, if you do this for me, I’ll give you whatever you want. Wathever. Um, well—not whatever you want,” you corrected quickly. “Something reasonable. Something human. Please.”
Frankie snorted, a small, incredulous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“You’re asking me to pretend to be your boyfriend at the wedding of a guy who dumped you? And you’re the sister of one of my best friends?” He shook his head, laughing quietly, like he couldn’t quite believe the words coming out of your mouth.
You sighed, the weight of your desperation pressing down on you.
“Santi will understand,” you argued, your tone bordering on pleading now. “He will. And it’s not like I’m asking for much—just come with me for a little while. We don’t even have to stay all night. Just long enough to…” You trailed off, realizing how pathetic you sounded. “Just long enough to make it believable.”
“Sorry, no,” Frankie said firmly, cutting you off. “I’m not getting dragged into your drama. And honestly? I think it’s stupid for you to go to that wedding in the first place. What are you trying to prove? My answer is no. Invite someone else.”
Frustration burned in your chest, rising up to your cheeks as his words landed. You could feel your face heating, both from embarrassment and anger.
“I can’t invite someone else,” you snapped. “You’re my boyfriend, remember? That’s what Harry thinks. He saw you. They saw you. And you did a pretty good job pretending to be nice to me today—can’t you do it one more time? Just this once?”
“No—”
“I’ll do anything you want,” you interrupted, your voice insistent. “I mean it. Any favor you can think of. Just name it.”
Frankie tilted his head, giving you a skeptical look.
“I’m not interested in any favors from you,” he said bluntly. “I don’t need anything.”
“Then do it for Santi,” you said, desperate now.
Frankie laughed at that, a low, disbelieving sound that only irritated you further.
“What does your brother have to do with any of this?”
“He’s your best friend,” you said, leaning toward him slightly, like you could will him to understand. “And you love him. And I’m his sister.”
“Uh-huh,” Frankie said, still smirking. “So?”
“So, doesn’t that mean you should help me?”
Frankie’s laugh grew louder, his shoulders shaking slightly as he glanced at you.
“You’re really reaching now, aren’t you?”
He turned to look at you then, the movement deliberate, his eyes narrowing slightly as they met yours. There was no malice there, but the firm set of his jaw told you all you needed to know—there was no convincing him. He understood the weight of your request, the quiet urgency stitched into each word, but it didn’t sway him.
“I’ve never asked you for help before,” you said, your voice softer now, almost brittle. “In fact, I’ve refused your help plenty of times. You said I was childish, remember? Well, fine. Maybe I’m being childish. But now I’m asking. Just this once.”
He shook his head slowly.
“It’s not the same thing,” he said, his voice low and steady, like he was trying to explain something simple to a child. “And you are being childish. Like I told you—no. The answer’s fucking no.”
You blinked hard, swallowing against the sting of rejection that settled heavy in your throat.
“Okay, fine,” you replied, the word clipped, your voice devoid of emotion. You turned your face away from him, angling it toward the window, not wanting him to see the look on your face—humiliation, maybe, or something closer to defeat. “Thank you.”
Frankie sighed, long and low, his hands flexing around the steering wheel as though he were squeezing the last ounce of patience from himself. The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the low hum of the car and the faint thrum of your pulse in your ears.
The rest of the drive passed without a single word exchanged. You stared out the window while Frankie focused intently on the road, his grip on the wheel tight and unyielding.
When the car finally pulled up in front of your house, the relief that washed over you was immediate and overwhelming. You reached for the door handle, your fingers trembling slightly, and stepped out into the humid air.
Frankie followed, moving around to the back of the car with the same mechanical precision he’d had all day. He popped the trunk and pulled out your suitcase, the effort seemingly as uninspired as when he’d loaded it hours ago.
He carried it to the door and set it down, his movements brisk, almost dismissive. You stood there, arms crossed, your body angled away from him, unwilling to meet his gaze.
“That’ll be all,” he said finally, his tone flat, his sunglasses obscuring his eyes on your face.
“Thank you,” you murmured, barely audible. “I’ll let Santi know I’m home.”
“Good.”
You didn’t look up as he turned back toward the car. You didn’t watch him leave, but you heard the sound of his door slamming shut, the low rumble of the engine as he drove off.
As the noise of his departure faded into the distance, you stayed rooted to the spot for a moment longer, the weight of the day pressing heavy on your shoulders. The heat prickled against your skin, and your head ached faintly, a dull reminder of how much you wanted this day to end.
You grabbed the handle of your suitcase, pulling it inside as the silence of the house enveloped you. You needed a shower—cold water to wash away the heat, the frustration, the embarrassment of it all. You needed to be alone, to let the day dissolve into nothingness behind a locked door.
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Nearly two weeks slipped by, lost in the haze of your routines and the background hum of self-destructive thoughts.
What were you going to do? Probably nothing. You wouldn’t go. That was the easiest answer, and maybe the only one that made sense. What choice did you really have?
Still, Frankie’s words stuck in your head, gnawing at the edges of your resolve. What are you trying to prove? he’d asked. And after a few restless nights, staring at the ceiling and replaying the conversation, you realized he was right. You did want to prove something—to Harry, to yourself. You wanted him to see you happy, radiantly happy, at his wedding, as though it didn’t touch you at all. You wanted to seem light and unbothered, the kind of woman who could be at her ex’s wedding without flinching.
Except you did care. Of course, you cared. You hated that you cared. And you hated Harry for putting you in this position. How could you not be upset? The man had left you only a few months ago, and now he was marrying someone else. It wasn’t normal—none of it was. But you couldn’t shake the question gnawing at the back of your mind: why did you have to be the one left hurt?
And Frankie. You’d hated the way he’d looked at you when he said it; What are you trying to prove? What the hell were you trying to prove? like he couldn’t believe how foolish you were. If you hadn’t wanted to see him before, you definitely didn’t want to now. You resolved to talk to Santi, to tell him how uncomfortable the trip had been—without blaming Frankie, exactly—and to ask, kindly but firmly, that he warn you if Frankie would be around in the future.
It was humiliating, this whole situation. But you were sure about one thing: you never wanted to see Francisco Morales again.
The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving your kitchen in soft shadows as you stirred sugar into your coffee. Your gaze stayed fixed on your laptop, on Harry’s wedding invitation glowing on the screen. You’d read it so many times it felt permanently etched into your mind. But now, you’d decided. You weren’t going.
Your finger hovered over the trackpad, guiding the cursor to the “RSVP not attending” option. You paused, just for a second, your chest tightening. Then, before you could click, the doorbell rang, sharp and sudden, making you flinch.
Setting the mug down, you crossed to the window, peering out at the sidewalk. The sight below made your brows knit together. That couldn’t be right. Surely, you were imagining things.
You slipped on a pair of shoes and headed downstairs, opening the door without much thought.
“Francisco,” you said flatly, his name sitting awkwardly on your tongue. “What are you doing here? Did something happen with Santi?”
He dragged a hand over his mouth and shook his head, slow and deliberate.
“Can we talk?”
“About what?” Your tone was sharp, incredulous, your expression twisted like he’d just said something absurd.
He looked different somehow. Neater, you thought, though you hated yourself for noticing. His hair was slightly shorter, his beard more trimmed than usual.
He sighed, long and heavy, like he’d been forced into something he didn’t want to do. The sound made you laugh, a sharp, derisive snort. As if he had the right to be irritated. He’d shown up unannounced, at night, on your doorstep. If anyone should feel fed up, it was you.
“I’m going to help you,” he said finally, the words clipped and begrudging.
“With what?”
“With your ex.”
“What?” The confusion on your face deepened. “Harry?”
Frankie glanced to the side, as if checking for onlookers, before returning his gaze to you and nodding.
“Are there other exes you need help with?”
His question was thick with sarcasm, and you rolled your eyes in response.  
“Well, I don’t need your help anymore. But thanks,” you said quickly, your voice tight, as you began to push the door shut, inch by inch.  
Then his hand was on it, stopping you.  
“Wait,” he said, and this time his voice was different—tinged with something almost like desperation. “I’m serious.”  
You paused, narrowing your eyes at him through the gap.
“Why would you help me? You were very clear the other day,” you said, your tone sharp. “There’s no point in me going to the wedding.”  
“True, there’s no point,” he said, his gaze steady on yours. “But I know you well enough to know you’d love to go anyway. To show Harry how great you’re doing. Am I wrong?”  
“You’re wrong,” you shot back instantly, too quickly.  
Frankie sighed, the sound dragging out like he was trying to buy himself time. He glanced away for a second, then back at you, his expression suddenly resolute.  
“I’ll do whatever you want,” he said.  
You blinked at him, stunned into silence for a moment.
Then, with a raised brow, you asked, “Are you sick? Do you have a fever, Francisco?” You brought your hand up toward his forehead, but he flinched back dramatically before you could touch him.  
“What are you up to?” you asked, pulling the door open wider, suspicion laced in your tone.  
Frankie stood there, his posture stiff, his expression uncomfortable, like he was holding something in that might burst out if you pressed too hard.  
“May I come in?” he asked finally, his brown eyes soft and glinting, almost boyish.  
You hesitated, studying him for a few beats, letting the curiosity outweigh your disdain. Then you stepped back and opened the door fully, sealing the moment with the soft click of the latch behind him.  
Frankie climbed the stairs ahead of you, pausing at the top to wait as you opened the door to your apartment. He stepped inside, scanning the space.  
Your living room was warm, cozy but cluttered—books and mugs scattered across the coffee table and nearly every other available surface, interspersed with pens, pencils, and random odds and ends. Behind the sofa, the kitchen was visible, small but functional.  
You stood back, watching him take it all in. His expression was unreadable, but you imagined him silently judging the chaos. You almost wanted him to—let him think it was messy, or that your style was lacking. You didn’t care.
He didn’t belong there, in your space. Everything about him seemed incongruous with the world you’d built for yourself—his presence like a mismatched puzzle piece, forcibly shoved into place where it clearly didn’t fit. He was out of tune with your reality, standing in the warmth of your living room like he’d wandered in from an entirely different life.
You crossed to the kitchen island, where your half-drunk coffee sat waiting. Sliding onto the stool, you gestured at the one across from you.
“Have a seat.”
Frankie hesitated but eventually sat down, his movements stiff and reluctant, like he’d rather be anywhere else. His expression was tight, uncomfortable, like he was a vampire catching the faintest whiff of garlic in the air. His eyes landed immediately on your laptop, still glowing with Harry’s wedding invitation.
“I see you’re taking the wedding well,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
You sighed audibly, refusing to take the bait.
“What do you want?”
As you waited for him to answer, you lifted your coffee to your lips. It had already cooled, the bitterness more pronounced now that it was lukewarm. Another thing he ruined for you, you thought bitterly. Your fucking coffee. 
“I’ve been thinking—”
“Congratulations,” you cut in, deadpan.
Frankie’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and unamused. He didn’t even blink, just stared at you like he was waiting for you to get it out of your system. You shrugged, feigning indifference, though the weight of his gaze made your skin prickle.
“I’ve decided I’m going to the wedding with you,” he said finally.
You raised an eyebrow, lowering your mug to the counter.
“You decided? I thought you didn’t want to go with me.”
“I don’t,” he said. His fingers brushed the edge of your laptop, tracing a line along it.
“But you’re still here,” you said, your voice laced with suspicion.
Frankie exhaled slowly, leaning back slightly.
“I’ll help you… if you help me.”
“If I help you? With what? Don’t tell me you’re finally going to therapy,” you blurted out, a half-smile tugging at your lips.
Frankie straightened in his seat, his back stiffening like you’d just landed a verbal jab. For a moment, it looked like he might get up and leave—walk out and never look back. But instead, he stayed. He clenched his jaw, his eyes locking on yours with a determined, almost defiant look.
“I had dinner with my family tonight,” he began, his voice measured but tense. “With my mom and two of my sisters—”
“Is that why you look like that?” you interrupted, tilting your head.
“What?”
“Like you finally took a bath,” you said, your smirk widening.
Frankie exhaled sharply, his patience visibly fraying. “Can you shut up and listen to me for a second? I’ll be brief.”
You held up a hand as if to say, Fine, go on.
“They’re nice, my family, but they won’t leave me alone,” he said, his tone growing more frustrated. “All through dinner, they kept asking me these awkward questions, trying to convince me to go on these dates they’ve been setting up with their friends’ daughters or coworkers or whoever.”
Your smile widened, thoroughly amused. “Why? Why don’t you just go? Come to think of it—”
“No,” he cut you off, his voice sharp. “I already agreed once, and it was a disaster. I’m not doing it again. And I’m not about to get into that with you.”
“Good,” you said, leaning back slightly. “Because I’m not interested.”
Frankie sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair.
“Every time I see them—for over a year now—it’s the same thing. They won’t leave me alone. And look, I get it. They’re trying to be helpful. But I’ve had enough.”
Your curiosity piqued at that. “What happened a year ago? Why?”
Frankie’s face tightened, his upper lip curling slightly as if the question had caught him off guard.
He frowned, his brows drawing together, before finally muttering, “That doesn’t matter.”
The dodge only made you more curious, but you let it go, watching as he leaned forward slightly, his hands gripping the edge of the counter.
“The point is,” he continued, “I got fed up. So tonight, when they started in on me again, I told them to back off. That I didn’t need them setting me up on dates because… because I already have a girlfriend.”
His words hung in the air for a moment, their weight sinking in.
Oh.
“Oh,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your eyebrows lifted just enough to show your surprise, though you tried to mask it.
Frankie shifted in his seat, his gaze falling to his hand resting on his knee. He shook his head slightly, a faint, almost imperceptible motion, as though he was trying to block out whatever he feared you might say next.  
“Funny,” you said, your voice light with mockery. “And your mother believed you?”  
When he looked up at you, his expression darkened. The amused smile playing on your lips ignited a flash of irritation in his eyes. You looked entirely too entertained by the situation, and it made him bristle.  
“Hardly,” he admitted, his tone sharp. “I don’t even think I convinced her. That’s why I need your help.”  
You raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly, as though creating space from whatever absurdity was about to come out of his mouth.
“You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?”  
Frankie nodded once, curtly. “My mom’s birthday is in a few days. She’s turning sixty. She’s having this big nice party, and she told me she wants to meet my girlfriend then.”  
You crossed your arms, still trying to gauge whether or not this was some elaborate joke.
“When’s the party?”  
“Next Saturday.”  
Your eyebrows shot up, and your lips parted in disbelief.
“Francisco,” you grumbled, the word low and heavy. “That’s in three days.”  
“I know,” he muttered, matching your tone. His jaw tightened like he was already regretting the entire conversation.  
“And what did you tell her?” you demanded. “What did you say when she asked?”  
Frankie’s hand moved to the counter, his fingers drumming once before he let them still.
He hesitated, and then, in a resigned voice, said, “I told her yes. That I’d bring my girlfriend to her birthday.” He paused, meeting your gaze. “So she’d finally leave me alone.”  
You pushed back from the stool, standing in one swift, exasperated motion. Your hands flew to your hips, your whole body radiating irritation as you glared at him.  
“Oh, so you just assumed I’d help you, didn’t you?” you snapped, your voice loud in the otherwise quiet apartment. “What if I said no?”  
“I knew you wouldn’t say no,” Frankie said, meeting your anger with calm certainty.  
You let out an incredulous laugh, your head tilting back briefly before you fixed him with a sharp look.
“My God, what’s wrong with you? You don’t know what I’m thinking.”  
He didn’t flinch, though you could see his patience thinning in the slight twitch of his brow.
“I know you well enough to know you’ll say yes,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact, as though he were stating the obvious.  
The sheer audacity of it made you want to scream.
Frankie rose from his spot, his movements deliberate and quick. His footsteps echoed as he crossed the room, closing the space between you with purposeful strides. He stopped in front of you, standing taller, looking down at you with an intensity that was hard to ignore.  
“I know you want to go to the wedding,” he said, his voice firm. “I know you asked me to go with you, and you were persistent. And anyway, I think you owe me.”  
You blinked, incredulous, a small laugh escaping your lips despite yourself.
“I owe you?”  
Frankie’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he took a small step closer.
“Don’t forget that the only reason you didn’t make a complete fool of yourself in front of Harry was because I decided to help you. I played along. If I’d wanted to, I could’ve exposed you in front of him and his fiancée. I could’ve made it worse.”  
“Thank you so much, Francisco, you're a fucking angel,” you spat, your tone thick with sarcasm, though the incredulous smile on your face betrayed how absurd it all felt. “What do you want me to do? Give you a hero of the century award?”  
Frankie’s expression didn’t waver; he was dead serious. “No. Come with me to my mom’s birthday and we’re even.”  
You froze for a moment, processing his words, the sheer audacity of them making your heart skip a beat. This was beyond ridiculous.  
"You're fucking crazy! Are you serious?" you demanded, unable to hide the disbelief in your voice. "It’s not even close. Harry’s my ex something, nothing more. And you’re asking me to go with you to a family event, full of your relatives, and you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend in front of all of them?”  
Frankie’s eyes flicked upwards, his impatience seeping into his expression. He rolled his eyes.  
“It’s not like we’re getting married,” he said, dismissive, his voice tinged with frustration. “You’re exaggerating. It’s not the first time I’ve taken a girlfriend to a family thing. What are you, fifteen?”  
You crossed your arms, giving him a skeptical look. “I don’t know, by my standards, introducing a girlfriend to your family seems like a pretty serious thing.”  
Frankie exhaled through his nose, clearly growing more insistent. He looked at you with unwavering intensity, his gaze now pointed, as if trying to break through the walls you were building between you and this ridiculous proposition.  
“I’ll take care of that,” he said, his voice steady but with a finality that made it clear he wasn’t backing down.
You stood there for a moment, the room stretching in a strange, suspended silence. You weighed his words in your mind, the absurdity of the situation tangled with a strange sense of reluctant curiosity.  
“Are you really going to accompany me to the wedding?” you asked, your voice quieter than you’d intended, the question slipping out like something you hadn’t meant to say aloud.  
Frankie nodded, a reassuring, almost teasing gesture, as though he was certain he had already won.
“I’ll help you catch the bouquet and everything,” he said, the corner of his mouth curling in a grin that almost made you want to punch him.  
“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, your voice edged with irritation.  
“And yet, here you are, still going with me to that wedding.”  
Frustration rose in your chest, pooling in your throat like heat. You bit down hard on the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress the rush of emotion that threatened to spill over. How utterly insolent. How impossible.  
“Fine,” you finally spat out, barely containing the anger simmering beneath your words. “I’ll help you. But you’d better make my time count, Francisco.”  
He flashed a half-smile, the kind of smug, self-satisfied smirk that made your fingers itch to slap him. You wanted to say something else—something cutting, something that would make him regret this entire conversation. But you couldn’t.  
Instead, Frankie reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and tapped the screen a couple of times before handing it to you.
“Give me your number.”  
You took the phone from him with a swift, almost startled motion, your fingers brushing against his as you punched in your number. The action felt mechanical, as if you were moving through a script you didn’t want to follow. When you handed it back to him, you watched him tap the screen, adding you to his contacts with deliberate motions. His fingers moved quickly, but you couldn’t catch the name he gave you. It was probably something ridiculous, something that made you cringe even without knowing it.
He didn’t say anything, just slid the phone back into his pocket, and turned to head for the door. But before he reached it, he stopped and looked at you, his eyes meeting yours once more.  
“I’ll text you,” he said abruptly, almost as if it were a last-minute afterthought.  
And then, without waiting for a response, he opened the door and left, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the quiet stairs. You stood there, still staring at the empty doorway, the weight of his words hanging in the air long after he was gone.
With one click, you confirmed your attendance.
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